


Defeating the Dark Arts and Falling in Love; A Hogwarts Study

by spiffingtea



Series: A Hogwarts Study [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: A Hogwarts Study, Canon-Typical Violence, Cas has family issues, Cas is a deadpan snarker, Childhood Friends, Cliffhangers, Dean has groupies, Harry Potter!AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Professor Castiel, Quidditch Master Dean Winchester, Quidditch Player Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffingtea/pseuds/spiffingtea
Summary: Being a family of an infamous legacy is not easy. Defeating Dark Wizards is not easy. Being staff members at Hogwarts is not easy. And neither is falling in love.Hogwarts!AU for Supernatural. Part 1 of the main 'A Hogwarts Study' story.





	1. Prologue

_17 Years Previously_

 

Dean collapses onto one of the chairs with a dramatic sigh, backpack crumpling beside the old desk. He subtlety (or not so subtly) eyes the other boy, who has his back to him at a desk just further up in the room. They are the only two occupants there, aside from a lone piece of chalk that is currently writing lines on the blackboard in front of them. Writing lines. Detention could be worse, he supposes.

Despite the clattering noise that Dean is unintentionally intentionally making, the person in front of him doesn’t seem to be taking any notice. So with a yawn, Dean stretches, knocking his quill over, hitting his back.

Without so much as pausing in his work, Castiel picks up the quill, and throws it back onto Dean’s desk.

“You’ll never leave detention if you keep making so much noise.”

Dean tries not to grin.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m doin’ some elaborate spell that you just can’t see.”

“If the result of the spell is to make detention last longer, I’m sure it’s highly successful.”

“Y’know Professors don’t care about detention, right? If she did she’d be here in the room with us.”

Silence falls again, Dean rolling the quill in between his fingers as he thinks, lost in thought.

“You’ve probably never been in detention before, since you’re all top of the class and that.”

Castiel leans back from his paper, and his shoulders drop in a small sigh. “Correct.” He confirms, with the tone of someone who knows there are wider repercussions for him than writing some lines. Dean frowns, unsure if he’s picking up those vibes correctly. He’s spent enough time in classes with Castiel, but he doesn’t think he’s ever said more than a few words outside of class time. Castiel wasn’t the sort of kid that you just ‘hung around’ with, but it’s not like Dean knew. They weren’t even in the same house.

“I don’t wanna pry, but—“

“Then don’t.”

“— I think she was out of line. What she said. She’s an adult, she should know better.”

“She is the Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, she isn’t unfounded on her observation.”

“Yeah, but, you just don’t talk about someone’s family like that when they don’t know anythin’. ‘S not as though it’s hard on you as is, with all the other students sayin’ things about you too.”

Castiel finally turns around at that, blue eyes gazing at Dean with a look that merely confirms his suspicions. Dean can’t figure out if Cas is hurt or not.

“Then it shouldn’t be surprising that staff members are also part of the gossip.”

“Yeah, well, just proves to me that adults are just big kids as well. Doesn’t make it anymore right.”

Castiel stares for so long at Dean, Dean can’t help but find himself wanting to look away, for the sake of both of them.

“Thank you.”

He looks back at him, in mild surprise. “Yeah?”

“For saying something. There aren’t many who would do something like that.”

Dean grins, sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, what’re friends for?”

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter One: The First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins with a kiss.

_Present Day_

 

Hairs stand on the back of his neck.

Dean Winchester would never call himself a man of routine. He would also never, ever proclaim that he was afraid of the dark. When they were kids, it had been his job to tell his brother that there was nothing under the bed.

He’s come to understood, since then, that he could very likely have been the one in the wrong.

This was normal routine, after any quidditch training or match. Stroll the grounds to check quality of the pitch, gather any lost brooms, lock up the pitch for the night (Merlin knows that doesn’t stop students sneaking in if anything could be said for when _he_ was a student), and be on his way. At this time of year, dipping into October, nights grew to be a lot longer and he’d often find himself having to do his final routine in the dark. It didn’t bother him. He might be the Quidditch Master, but that didn’t make him an insufficient wizard. Even though they were hanging on the outskirts of Hogwarts, it was very rare to get anything crawling in from outside. Once or twice he’d had to use a stun spell to scare some things that had made its way from the forbidden forest, but that was all.

He’s halfway across the pitch when he finds himself coming to a halt. Hairs stand at the back of his neck, and he instinctively clutches at his wand, in hand, of where the end of it is currently lit up so he can see where he is going.

_What’s that?_

He can’t see anything, nothing that should cause him such sudden pause, but cold rushes over him, terror tightening his chest that his joints freeze, and for a few seconds he can’t make himself move, or think, to try and decipher what the impending danger is that’s approaching him—

And then he looks up.

“Holy shit.” He mouths, and his wand fumbles in his fingers.

The night sky, previously littered with hundreds and hundreds of stars, are now blocked with its own cloud of darkness. One that is big enough to cover most of the pitch. One that is descending very rapidly to Dean.

_Dementors._

Desperately trying to grasp his wand well enough to aim at the sky, panic consumes him as he realises just how many of the things there are. Hundreds, maybe. He vaguely recalls learning the counter charm, while still in school, and remembers producing one—

He feels the edges of his vision darkening as they grow closer, feels the fight and the warmth drain from him too quickly to grasp and he can barely shout out in defense, never mind utter the words for the spell, and-his wand drops and it dawns on him this is merely how his life ends, and nightmares begin to drown out his death—

Dean barely acknowledges a hand, firm, grasp around his arm, pulling him to the floor, as the muddled outline of a figure stands in front of him. They raise their wand, and as the soft ethereal glow of a dove glides before the creatures, the spell echoes across the quidditch pitch.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

The moment the spell leaves the wand Dean feels the grasp on him start to lift; the dove flies between the Dementors, which recoil, and begin to dissipate. Over the course of a minute the looming cloud is forced into retreat, and eventually, the stars in the sky return.

It takes him a minute to realise that the figure is now looming over him, and is speaking to him.

“Are you okay?”

Before Dean has chance to answer this man with the gravel voice, he leans down to hook a steady arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him up to his feet. He doesn’t let go, and instead leads him off the pitch, and back towards the castle. It takes Dean a few minutes to realise who is carrying him.

“Professor,” he finds himself slurring, still weakened from his very near death experience, “Earnin’ your pay, I see.”

Professor Novak merely wrinkles his nose in response, and pauses as they approach a bench in one of the long, extensive corridors, one that no student should be wandering down after classes end. He turns, and gently props Dean down on the bench, kneeling in front of him.

“Here, take this.” Castiel says, pulling a piece of foil out from his robes, and it takes Dean a moment to realise that he’s being offered chocolate. Weakly, he takes it.

He barely notices the man’s gaze as Dean bites into it. He knew enough not to question when someone handed him chocolate, particularly the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher after they, y’know, face something from the Dark Arts. By the time Castiel speaks, Dean can feel some semblance of his self settling again.

“That was a very close situation. If I had arrived a few seconds later, I may have been too late.”

Dean breathes, and tries not to have an existentialist crisis then and there.

“How’d you know?”

Castiel sighs, moving to sit on the bench beside Dean.

“I looked out of the window, and saw them approaching.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbles, a bit stunned at the simplicity of it. Had his fate really just been hinged on this man’s idle thought?

“Dementors aren’t to be trusted, and should never have been allowed so close to the grounds… but why they approached merely you is unusual, as opposed to doing so during a match or training. The Headmaster will need to know what happened.”

Dean watches as Castiel stands up, and while weak, he at least has enough clarity to now look at the man before him. He doesn’t know whether to be unsurprised that the professor hasn’t changed out of his work robes for the day, but here he is in the same sweeping cloak and dark waistcoat. Dean wonders when he started taking such an interest in fashion. Castiel looks at him expectantly. He shrugs.

“Well, let’s go.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“No. You need to return to your quarters to rest. You will still be feeling the effects in the morning, and I’d advise that you don’t attend to any of your normal duties tomorrow, unless you have a particularly light schedule. Being nearly Kissed by a Dementor is no light matter.”

“Yeah, that’s what I say about all the girls.” His attempt at a grin falls flat, and the Qudditch Master shrugs in resignation. He starts to stand, slowly.

“Uh, Professor?” He asks, just as Castiel has turned to head to the Headmasters office. He turns back to Dean, an eyebrow raised.

“Thanks for saving me, back there.”

Castiel nods. “As you said; it is my job.”

Dean watches Castiel go, and feels himself frowning.

Talk about reunions.


	3. The Minister for Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sir, is it true that you saved Master Winchester from loads of dementors last night?”
> 
> “You heard what the headmaster said during breakfast.”
> 
> “”Yeah, but… what was it like?”
> 
> Castiel sighs, puts down his book, places his hands on the table. “I’m sure you heard the rest of the statement Professor Singer said. There were to be no questions on this.”
> 
> “But what if they come for us, too?” A girl in the back pipes up, her voice wobbling. A few concerned murmurs pass themselves along the classroom. He frowns. 
> 
> “We’re ensuring that won’t happen again.”
> 
> “Could you teach us how to stop those things?”
> 
> “Enough.” Castiel states, and the room falls silent. “A Patronus is an extremely complicated spell, certainly not for third-year students to learn. If it is necessary then maybe I will. It certainly isn’t necessary for succeeding at Hogwarts.”
> 
> “Did you ever have to use it when you were an auror, sir?”

“Sir, is it true that you saved Master Winchester from loads of dementors last night?”

“You heard what the headmaster said during breakfast.”

“”Yeah, but… what was it like?”

Castiel sighs, puts down his book, places his hands on the table. “I’m sure you heard the rest of the statement Professor Singer said. There were to be no questions on this.”

“But what if they come for us, too?” A girl in the back pipes up, her voice wobbling. A few concerned murmurs pass themselves along the classroom. He frowns.

“We’re ensuring that won’t happen again.”

“Could you teach us how to stop those things?”

“Enough.” Castiel states, and the room falls silent. “A Patronus is an extremely complicated spell, certainly not for third-year students to learn. If it is necessary then maybe I will. It certainly isn’t necessary for succeeding at Hogwarts.”

“Did you ever have to use it when you were an auror, sir?”

The student is stared at.

“That will be the end of today’s lesson.”

A groan rolls from most of the class, but the familiar shuffle of books being put into bags and chairs scraped under desks proceeds anyway. He wonders why there is such pause as they leave until he looks up at the open door to see Dean stood there, staring into the room. He wonders how much Dean heard of the conversation.

As the last of the students leave, looking reluctantly at Dean, Castiel motions for him to enter.

“Winchester,” he voices, glances at Dean. “How are you?”

Dean rubs at the back of his neck. He’s in his regular quidditch attire, but there isn’t any mud on his boots. He hasn’t been out onto the pitch, then. “Yea, good. Well, y’know.” He pauses. “Not a great nights sleep, but what can you do, yeah?”

“Nightmares are fairly normal, after a Dementor attack. Particularly on such a large scale. Don’t be surprised if you have periods of melancholy over the next week.” Castiel reaches around to the top drawer on his desk, and pulls out a bar of chocolate. He hands it to Dean. “Don’t tell my students about this drawer.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, but smiles when he realises what is he is being handed. There’s a small crinkle as he rips some of the foil, chomping half of it into his mouth. “Oh, hey— thanks-” He mumbles around a piece. Castiel closes the drawer and starts shuffling his papers around on the desk, organising them. It takes him a few moments to realise how intently he’s being stared at, and he looks up.

Dean blinks, rubs a thumb against the scruff of his beard.

“So, uh — Professor —”

“Castiel.”

“What? Oh, right. Castiel — Cas — can I call you that? Uh, I wanted to —uh — Just wanted to say, thanks. For saving my life. Last night.”

“As I said, it’s part of my responsibility to Hogwarts. But I appreciate the gratitude.” He tries a smile. “Truly.”

Dean nods, lost in thought. Castiel steps aside his desk and motions to the door. “I’m assuming you’re also heading to the Great Hall? The Headmaster has his announcement to make over supper.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean answers, and they walk slowly in silence.

“How long have you been at Hogwarts?”

Dean glances up at the question. “Oh, uh. Workin’? Couple of years now. Figured since I couldn’t pursue the professional quidditch life, I decided to stick it out here at Hogwarts after a while. Also means my brother knows where I am, and I get to see him more.”

“Sam Winchester, correct?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“I’ve met him on a few occasions, when certain investigations have brought me to the Department of Mysteries. He’s a good man.”

Dean instantly brightens. “He sure is.”

They walk the remainder of the corridor back in silence. Dean is unsure whether the silence is comfortable or not, and he fidgets with the foil on the chocolate bar the rest of the walk. He pauses at the door to the great hall, gently putting an arm out to stop Cas.

“It’s Dean.”

Castiel looks at him with a slight frown. Dean shrugs. “You can call me Dean. You don’t need to call me by my title. It’s not as though we weren’t both students here, once.”

Cas regards Dean with an unreadable look, halfway between a frown and recognition, dawning from a memory long folded away. He reaches to grasp Dean’s arm, pressing it back to his side. “Of course, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie Bradbury nudges Dean as soon as he sits down at the staff table, eyeing Castiel with a raised eyebrow as he goes to sit at the other end, seemingly unaware to the observation he is now receiving.

“So what, you went to hang out with your new saviour after class?”

Dean glances back at Cas, briefly, before tossing Charlie the bar of chocolate. She catches it with a fumble. “It’s not everyday you have someone literally save your life seconds from death. Wanted to make sure he knew how grateful I was.”

“And you did that by giving him chocolate, yeah?”

“Uh, no, he gave me it.”

“I _have_ to try that sometime.”

“The top drawer in his desk is full of chocolate. He told me not to tell anyone about that, though.”

“Well that took you the whole of five minutes to break, huh?”

“You love me.”

“Shut up.”

Charlie sticks her tongue out, withdrawing as her eye catches the Headmaster rising to his feet. Silence hushes over the great hall, students turning from their own gossip to look towards the front. Nevertheless, Robert Singer taps the end of his goblet on the desk in three long, drawn out knocks. He waits for complete silence to fall.

“Thank you all for listening. As mentioned at Breakfast there’s an announcement I needed to make that had to wait for tonight.

As most of you are aware we have our new minister of Magic who was officially inducted last Monday. As a mark of celebration on behalf of Hogwarts, we are organising a series of celebrations for the new Minister for Magic… of whom I would like to introduce to you all now.”

He motions to the doors to the great hall, which open as if on cue. A small entourage enter the hall, all waving at the students as polite applause smatters throughout, growing as the Minister enters, obvious by the small stature and distinct separation from the rest of the group entering. Castiel blinks, in his seat, but stands in order to join the rest of the staff applauding.

Dean’s clapping goes to wild waving when he realises who else is part of the group — a wave back and Dean hops down to go greet his brother, clasping him on the shoulder. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Sam grins back. “You know what confidentiality is like at the moment, Dean. Good to see you too.”

They fill in the empty chairs left out at the impossibly longer staff table, and the Minister takes a stand at the lectern, Professor Singer wordlessly taking a step back.

Charles Shurley stands, a shy smile as he clears his throat.

“Hello, everyone. I’d — I’d like to thank your headmaster, and the school, for offering some amazing hospitality. It’s such an honour to be stood here, wow, as a past student of Hogwarts myself.

I know headlines have looked a little daunting, and I’ve heard that you’ve had some incidents happen here at the school very recently… but as you can see we’re all trying to do our best to keep you all safe. This is part of the reason I’m here.

I’m officially announcing a school---wide tournament, as a symbol of partnership between Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic, and to allow us to come together and celebrate in times that may otherwise call us to run and hide. This tournament shall be run like this; there will be a representative from the school — one selected from the student selection, and one from the staff, and there will be one from our small entourage of Ministry staff members. There will be a few select challenges that will take place over the first week of November, and the winner shall earn a small monetary prize alongside the honour of their respective groups.

To start off the week, there will be a ball to celebrate the start of the challenge, with the selected champions as the honoured guests for the occasion. We will also be taking opportunity to visit your lessons and other activities.” Minister Shurley smiles, before fumbling with the pieces of paper he had placed on the lecturn. He tucks them away in his robes. “Uh, thank you for your time. I hope you have a great rest of your week.”

He steps down. In the midst of looking towards his brother, Dean catches Cas’ expression.

He’s frowning.

 


	4. The Love of a Sibling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are we the infamous ones?”
> 
> \--
> 
> Castiel holds his suspicions, among other things.

“So how long are you out here for?”

They’re wandering around the edges of the Quidditch pitch. Sam is staring with some nostalgia at the seats for the audience in the stands. It wasn’t often that he got to visit Hogwarts, and even less that he got to visit the Quidditch pitch, even with Dean working there.

“Oh, I’ll probably have to take the trip back down to London, but being part of the Ministry and part of the Minister’s entourage, apparition is thankfully allowed. So I should be around for most of the events.”

“Hey, that’s pretty good.”

“Sure is.”

Dean’s out of his robes in this occasion, but decided to take his brother for one walk around the pitch before heading towards Hogsmeade to visit one of the local taverns. Weekends were a good time.

“How’d someone like you manage to shack up as part of the Minister’s bodyguards, anyway?”

Sam taps the side of his nose with a grin. “Putting your head down and working hard pays off, y’know,” a small frown, “and hearing that your older brother nearly died at the hands of a dozen Dementors also makes people a bit more sympathetic.”

That makes Dean look down, and he toes absentmindedly at some of the grass on the pitch. “Touché.”

“So… how are you, after all that?”

“Can’t say it’s an experience I like to relive, Sammy.”

“I don’t think anyone would. It’s a good job Castiel was around. Weren’t you able to cast a patronus?”

“ _Dude_.” Dean mutters, in a way that sounds like he’s trying to pull out the pain of those words. “You _know_ what trouble I have with them.”

“Yeah, but you _could_ —”

“Well I didn’t, and I think the moment has passed on whether it would have been helpful or not, yeah—?” He looks up, suddenly staring across the pitch. “And speaking of the devil—”

Sam looks up to see what he’s spotted, and sees two figures on other side of the stadium. They’re approaching their direction, but it doesn’t seem apparent that they’re heading for them intentionally. Dean glances at Sam and they stand and wait, and as they approach, they can hear Castiel talking, rather heatedly, with the Head Auror, Michael; Minister Shurley’s personal bodyguard, particularly for this trip.

“Don’t think they’re having as happy a reunion,” Sam murmurs, under his breath.

Both the Winchesters remain quiet as the voices of the other siblings echo across the pitch to them. Dean is secretly glad it wasn’t a windy day.

Castiel walks in stride beside Michael, and he’s certain Michael is trying to keep him just under his pace. Michael, with some indignation, glances around the pitch, then looks up. Castiel is talking.

“I am unsure of what else you expect of me, Michael. Hogwarts is one of the most well protected places in the country. But there’s only so much that can be done when the Ministry decides that sending a group of Dementors to look over Hogwarts is a _good_ idea.”

“And surely, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, it should have occurred to you, Castiel, what true danger the Ministry considers Hogwarts to be in if it feels the need to send such creatures. You should be advising the Headmaster to implement further curfews, restricting anyone from being on the grounds alone, especially once it is dark.”

“And that is _very_ much the case for students, and rather less so for staff. They have their own duties to attend to, Michael.”

“And you appear to be failing yours. As you did in the ministry.”

Both of them look up as they recognise they’re within earshot of the brothers. Castiel frowns, while Michael stares at them. He gives a curt nod.

“Ah, the infamous Winchesters.”

“I hope you realise that Cas literally saved my ass that night.”

Sam and Cas both look at Dean with some surprise, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Michael. Michael stares at Dean with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m assuming you were incapable to defend yourself?”

“That’s kinda what happens when several dozen Dementors decide to throw a surprise party where the cake is _you_.”

Michael observes Dean for a few moments, and glances over at Sam. “Well, if only Dementors were weakened against quick wit.” He glances at Castiel, “I’ve wasted enough time. I should be returning to the Minister.”

Castiel merely nods. “As you were, brother.”

Michael leaves without a word. As they watch him go, Dean folds his arms.

“Why are _we_ the infamous ones?”

 

* * *

 

“Apologies for the behaviour of my brother. Unfortunately he is usually…. So curt. You don’t get far as an Auror without being particularly headstrong.”

Dean looks up in mild surprise as Castiel is stood over him. He’d leaned over to do up one of his boots before heading out with Sam whilst in the corridors, only to find the Professor looming over him. It makes him blink.

“Oh, uh. Don’t worry about it. Sounds like you got the short end of the stick, having to deal with a brother like that. No offense.” He adds, straightening up. He looks around the corridor. “I was just, uh, headin’ out. You can walk with me if you like.”

Castiel nods, and they walk. Dean shrugs. “You shouldn’t need to be the one to apologise for his behaviour, anyway. That’s his job.”

“Unfortunately Michael prefers to only take jobs that end up with him looking like he has nothing to be sorry for.”

Another shrug. “I take the no offense back, then. Guy deserves all of it.”

The other man chuckles, and it Dean turns to look at him with his eyebrows raised. Cas frowns at him. “What?”

“Just never heard you laugh, that’s all. Was unsure if you had it in you.”

“I do understand humour, Dean.”

“That’s not what I hear the students say.”

Castiel follows him with a frown, and Dean can’t help himself from smirking. As they reach the entrance to the outside of Hogwarts, Castiel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder to slow him.

“Dean… look after yourself.”

Dean frowns, glancing at Castiel. “I mean, that’s what I’m tryin to do. With various levels of success, as you’ve seen.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, beyond that. Something doesn’t feel right about everything that’s happening here. I can’t say yet, and I don’t think anyone else is aware.”

Now Dean really is frowning, looking down to meet Cas’ eyes. “What do you mean?”

A few students pass by, enough to draw attention from them, and Cas quietly steps away. He shakes his head. “I can’t say too much. Maybe I will, soon. I just wanted you to know.”

Despite the new distance, their gaze doesn’t break. Castiel tends to hold serious as a default expression, but here he’s looking downright worried.

Dean nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says, softly.

Castiel steps away, but Dean finds himself stepping in Cas’ direction as he’s about to leave.

“Uh, Cas—”

He stops, looking at Dean. “Yes?”

“Why’d you quit being an Auror?”

Castiel looks at him in silence, smiles, and leaves Dean staring after him.


	5. The Selective

_Official announcement to all staff and students at Hogwarts school of ministry:_

_The participants of the Ministry’s Hogwarts tournament will be selected via a random selecting process. Selected persons will be announced via the school board on the last Wednesday of the Autumn. Please see to see if you have been selected. After that, individuals will be contacted directly in order to prepare for the coming challenges. Further announcements will be made by the Headmaster in the Great Hall._

There is a heaving amount of students in front of the walls where the announcements lay; Dean wonders why he is surprised, and why he decided to come have a look now. One student turns, notices him, and jabs their friend in the ribcage. The huddle bursts into giggles.

“Hey,” He grins, taking a step forward, but falters when he realises that the rest of the crowd have also turned their eyes on him, seventh year boys included. He blinks.

“Huh.”

“Master Winchester, you’re on the list.”

“ _Huh_.”

He brushes forward, students shuffling away so he can get a closer look. True to the students, under _STAFF SELECTIVE: Dean Winchester_ , typed carefully underneath. He reaches his fingers out and brushes them against his name. He finds himself surprised that it isn’t Castiel’s name.

He glances briefly to the side, where in front of the Student selective there is a girl that Dean vaguely recognises from Quidditch matches staring wide eyed at her own name. Her fists are clenched and some students are prodding at her. She’s trying not to break down.

Dean glances over at the last name, and his chest tightens.

_MINISTRY SELECTIVE: Sam Winchester._

 

* * *

 

“Hey, so, uh—” Dean starts, barely remembering to knock on the door before he wanders into the classroom. If Dean was correct, Castiel would be writing on the board, ready for the next days set of lessons. If there was one thing he’d started to learn, it was that Castiel worked like clockwork.

Castiel twists around from his stance, teetering on the top of some small steps to reach the top of the blackboard at the sudden entrance of Dean. Dean instinctively grabs his shoulder to steady the Professor, and Castiel throws him a half hearted glare.

“Knocking is usually customary for my students.”

“I mean, _I’m_ not a student—”

“—and the rest of humanity.”

Dean rolls his eyes, holds his hands up in defeat. “Sheesh, yeah.” A frown. “Are you okay?”

Castiel sighs. “I am. Or, as much as one can be that has a brother breathing down his collar at every opportune moment.” He places his piece of chalk down, dusting his hands. “I’m assuming this is about the tournament? Congratulations.”

“Uh— yeah.” Dean acknowledges, rather glumly. He makes note somewhere in the back of his mind about Michael's behaviour. “Not exactly about me, though. I was, going to ask a favour — I know you’ve saved my life and everything, but I know you’ll do a good job—”

“What is it?”

“— I need you to help my brother.” He sighs. “I wanna make sure he wins, or has a good chance. I dunno, I know some of these things can be pretty dangerous.”

“I’m sure your brother is more than capable.” Castiel states. He stares at Dean. “Aren’t you concerned for your own safety?”

Dean shakes his head.

Castiel watches him for a moment. “I would if I could, but I’m fairly certain Hogwarts staff aren’t allowed to support Ministry members during a challenge. It’ll go both ways.”

Dean swears to himself. Then; “Could you help me?”

He feels Castiel considering him. “Claire had already asked for me help, but,” a tone of amusement in his voice, seeing Dean deflate. “But I passed her along to Professor Mills. Jody would prove best for mentoring her. So yes, I suppose that’s possible. What would you—”

Castiel stops his sentence as he watches Dean’s eyes follow to the blackboard, and his mouth drops open. He sighs.

At the top of the blackboard, so far, is simply one word. _Lucifer_.

“You’re teaching students about that?” Dean whispers.

“We go through profiles of Dark Wizards, yes, especially active ones.”

“Isn’t it hard — y’know?”

“Yes?”

“Talking about your own brother?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I daresay this is why The Headmaster gave me the job, Dean.”

“To friggin’ torture yourself?”

“To prove that darkness is a choice; not a curse that spreads.”


	6. Vigilance

Students line up either side of him on the pitch, facing each other. Brooms sit on the floor to their right hand side, and Dean grasps his hands behind his back.

“Okay, we’ve all been over this part. What I’m lookin’ for is your take-off and landing.” Dean frowns at a few impatient groans. “Alright, alright. I know you’ve done this a million times over but if you forget to oil the bones of what you know you’ll never get up in the sky proper. Not how it’s meant to go, anyway.”

He turns to the line of students to his right. “Remember, you’re here to help each other, not to bully or tell them how to fall off even further. If I see any badmouthing you’ll be banned from flying and being part of any team for the rest of the year. Do I make that clear?”

Quiet nods, some murmurs, and Dean motions to the line he is looking at. A chorus of ‘up!’ echo, brooms flying to hands, and the shuffle of positions being taken. The acquired grace of flying makes it very obvious what students had been brought up as a muggle, or at least rich enough to own a broom. Even though he’d picked it up remarkably quickly, he remembers the pre-teen shame of those first few lessons.

He taught Sam back at home.

He watches carefully as all the students take off, do their circuit around the pitch, and then return to the line. Some are better than others. A few miss their mark completely, flying past their partner, and one falls off the broom before it stops moving, and he lands face first in the grass. It flies off into the wall, breaking in half. Dean sighs.

He walks over to the student, curled on the floor. Dean walks over, leans down, puts a hand on their arm.

“Hey, you dead there?”

A small groan, the student — Jack — holds the side of his chest. Dean peers over.

“Looks like you figured you’ve got too many ribs and needed to get rid of one.” He looks to their partner. “Get them to the medical wing.”

His partner, Kaia, glares at Jack utterly unimpressed. With no fanfare she throws his arm over her shoulder, and they wander off into the castle. Dean turns to the rest of the class. He starts to grin.

“Alright, time to show you how a Quidditch team _really_ works.”

 

* * *

 

Dean glances down sometime later while he’s balancing on his broom to the side of the pitch, observing the game. He looks with some surprise that he sees Kaia returning, with Professor Mills in stride with her. He motions to the class to continue their practice, and he glides down to where Jody is. He steps off the broom in pace to join her at the bottom, broom grasped in his hand.

“Professor,” he nods, glancing at the student. Kaia looks at Jody, who dismisses her. They nod and run off, grabbing a broom to join the game. Jody turns to Dean, and Dean smiles.

“Not the one I’d take for a casual viewing of Quidditch practice, _Professor_.”

Jody rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“Dean, you know I live for anything that pulls me away from grading papers.” She looks into the sky, staring at the class. She doesn’t move her gaze until she shuffles closer to Dean, who in response leans in. The frown that now falls on her expression with no students to see her has Dean matching her. This couldn’t be good.   
  
“I ran into them in the medical wing. Jack told me why he fell.”

Dean shrugs. “Just seemed like he lost his timing. Happens sometime.”

Jody shakes her head. “That’s not the reason. He told me while he was flying that he’s sure he looked up and saw a Dementor. It freaked him out, he lost his balance with the broom, and that’s why he fell.”

Dean falls silent.

“But Cas — tiel, said that he — and then Michael, had ensured there was sufficient warding against them—”

“And I’ll ask him to triple check. They’re possibly just seeing things, but it means the students are still scared. You’re the one that faced the Dementors, Dean. Professor Novak has obviously demonstrated what he’s done, and I think it’d be good for the rest of the students to see that you’re making the effort to be vigilant, too.”

“You sayin’ that they don’t think I’m capable of defending them?”

“Not really, but they might feel helpless. I think it’ll be important if you do something to help them… not, feel helpless, Dean.”

“Sure, I’ll just go and ask the Dementors and Dark Wizards to politely leave, next time. I’m sure that’ll fill them with fear and the students with utter confidence.”

Jody snorts, folding her arms. “Not the worst idea I’ve heard from you. But what I do hear is that there is a Dueling club starting up, in response to recent events happening at Hogwarts — and, well, the wider wizarding community.”

“Was that the Minister’s idea?”

“Auror Michael’s, actually.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Unsurprising. Is he running it?”

“Who do you think that man is? Of course not. Castiel is — and you.”

“I can’t believe—wha?”

Jody stares at Dean. “Go and tell the Professor you’re willing to help run the dueling club.”

Dean blanches. “I got enough on my plate already. I don’ wanna step on his toes more than I already have—”

“ _Dean_.”

Dean raises his hands in defeat. He blows breath between his lips in a slow whistle. “Okay, _fine. S’pose_ it’ll help with the upcoming tournament stuff.”

Jody’s stern expression releases into a large smile, skin crinkling at the corner of her eyes. She grabs Dean by the shoulders. “Thank you. I can guarantee a lot more students will be eager to take part with you and the Professor helping to lead it.”

He grumbles. “Yeah, yeah, don’t thank me too soon.”


	7. The Ministry of Magic

_One week earlier_

 

The tips of Sams fingers play at the letter in his hands, delivered to the owlery this morning. Suspicion rose when he’d found the Hogwarts seal pressed in wax on the back; letters weren’t uncommon from Dean, but the seal had been a first.

The news was not what he was expecting. He’s staring at the cursive, written in the slightly shaky curl of Professor Singer.

_Sam Winchester,_

_While I want to reassure you that this news ends well, as the next of kin I need to inform you that Dean Winchester was involved in an incident involving no less than 30 Dementors. Thanks to the aid of our Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Castiel Novak, the situation was not a fatal one._

_We are remaining ever vigilant, and are reviewing next steps to ensure the safety and wellbeing of all staff and students at Hogwarts._

_If you have any concerns or queries, please don’t hesitate to contact me._

_Yours_

_Bobby Singer,_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Sam glances up as a figure looms at his doorway. He blinks with some shock as he realises that it is the Head Auror.

Sam gives him a curt nod. “Auror Michael. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Michael doesn’t reply for a moment or two, as he’s too busy scanning his office; Sam had gained enough respect in the Ministry to have his own, private space - but as far as ministry offices go, it was still pretty… lacking. There are notices, post it notes, stuck all over the walls. He feels Michael linger at them with some puzzlement. Hey, magic didn’t need to do everything, after all.

Sam is still watching Michael when he finally meets his gaze.

“The Minister wishes to see you.”

Sam stares. That explains why the Head Auror himself has come to visit, not some lackey. He’d assumed for a moment it was because Castiel had left.

“Minister Shurley?” Sam affirms. Michael nods. “I imagine it’s in regard to the letter in your hand.”

Sam looks down. He frowns.

“Aren’t Dementors more your realm?”

“Yes.”

Sam waits for further deliberation, but there is none. Instead, with a sigh, he tucks the letter in his desk drawer, chair creaking as he unfolds himself from behind the desk. He nods at Michael.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

They walk through the Ministry in silence. While it was common to watch Michael or any of the arurors walk through corridors, especially after a mission that they’d been on, and to be part of the silence that surrounded them, it was another thing to be the reason for it. It was unnerving, watching people lean over and murmur to each other. Dean’s incident had no doubt already been reported in the Daily Prophet, something Sam often didn’t have time to check until his lunch.

Sam could count the amount of times he’s been in the Minister’s office. It remained ever the same, even with a new Minister - except for the removal of personal artifacts belonging to the last Minister here. Chuck seemed as of yet to place any of his own.

The room holds very little natural lighting, and so Chuck looks even more shrunken in his chair. As they enter there’s a shy smile, and Chuck ushers them in.

Sam realises they are not alone. Three other members are in the office - Chuck’s personal assistant, Becky Rosen, who gives Sam a smile wide enough that it shows off her teeth - Anna, who was another former Auror, now part of the Obliviator Headquarters (Sam feels Michael glare at her in greeting). Sam’s chest tightens at Meg Masters.

Chuck finally stands to his feet.

“Thanks for coming, everyone. I’ve chosen you all specifically, as representatives of the Ministry. Uh, I’m still getting used to this, sorry - there’s a lot of people in the Ministry! But we’re going to Hogwarts to celebrate a new era and reassure the students in light of recent events, and I feel you’d all be most qualified --”

“With all due respect, Minister,” Sam starts, “But why is _she_ here?”

Everyone turns to stare at Sam, uncomfortable, but side eyes the Minister expectantly; they’d all been wondering the same thing. Chuck blinks, frozen. He wrings his hands.

“Meg Masters has proven her loyalty to the Ministry of Magic.” Michael states, firm. Chuck nods, visibly taking a breath.

“Clearly not enough to be an Auror though.” Meg mutters.

“Yes -- You shouldn’t be questioning my decisions, Mr Winchester.” He says, confidence assured. Sam holds his hands up in indignant resignation.

Chuck exhales, shoulders dropping. He tries to smile. “Great, so,” He clasps his hands together. “You’re all going to have to help me, as it’s been a very long time since I was involved in any Public speaking, event organising - and don’t even talk to me about going near to Hogwarts…”


	8. The Duelling Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas lead a duelling club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in uploading this! I got caught up with another fic challenge and life happened to me orz. Enjoy!

Rain patters hard on the windows to the great Hall, flickering light of the candles illuminating the two dozen students amassed in a large crowd. Their murmurs hush into silence as Castiel steps onto the platform.

He has discarded his outer robe, strolling in only his waistcoat. He withdraws his wand, looking to the students. “I have been asked to establish this duelling club in light of recent events.

I am not going to evade the severity of this; if you come into a confrontation with Lucifer or any of his followers, you will enter into a life or death confrontation.”  
He pauses, glancing around at the class.

“Fortunately,” he says, seeing the students collectively exhale. “We can provide a safe space for you to develop your skills.”

He stares down the aisle. “First, we will be demonstrating how I expect you to act during these sessions. Master Winchester has gratefully offered to assist me.”

Dean slinks onto the platform, where a few of the female students gasp delightfully. He grins at them, and throws his robe in their direction. There’s a small scuffle as they go to grab it, giggles surrounding the garment. Castiel watches him, blankly.

“Mr Winchester here gives us all an excellent demonstration of how a duel will not start. Lucifer will not give you ten seconds to avoid staining your best robes.”

Dean, still grinning, walks his way to the centre of the platform. “But this is just a demonstration, yeah?”

“Hopefully an accurate one.” Cas mutters, expression unreadable. He raises his wand, high enough so that it parallels his face. Dean copies the action, and together they turn and march to the opposite ends of the stage.

The students fall silent.

Dean reaches the end of the platform and swings round, wand poised. To his surprise, Cas is already waiting, and hasn’t cast a spell. Yet.

“ _Stupefy_!”

Cas blocks the spell with ease. He waits.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, still standing. Dean cracks his neck, shuffling in position.

“Alright, that was j-”

Dean is thrown, landing on his back with a loud grunt. The class erupt in giggles.

Dean sits up, disorientated. He growls. “ _Fine_.”

Cas tilts his head.

From his crouched position, Dean casts a spell. Silently.

Castiel stumbles as he struggles to deflect it in time. Dean barely has chance to get on his feet before Cas retaliates, twisting as the spell ricochet off the wall of the Great Hall behind him.

The class shuffle back.

There is tense silence as spells are thrown across the room. Dean finds himself dodging far more than he’d like for something that is not a Quidditch match, but he manages to stay on his feet. They step closer and closer, and at one point, Cas laughs when he catches Dean off guard, nearly teetering off the platform.

They come to a sudden stop, panting, and realise that they have their wands pointing at each other, pressed in at the bottom of their jaws. Staring.

Dean smirks.

" _Aguamenti_ ," he whispers, and lifts the tip of his wand to spray water into Castiel's face. Castiel flinches, covering his eyes. He drops his wand, and Dean catches it.

Dean holds up the wand in celebration and the students applaud, some of the girls shaking his robe as though a small banner. Dean grins, taking in the applause with a small bow, before turning back to Cas, who is trying to dry his face with a rough wipe of his arm. Water drips off his eyelashes as he coughs, and the class fall silent; Dean included.

"That was rather an intense demonstration. I don't expect you to be so... quick." He remarks, glancing at Dean. "But it's a good start. What I'm looking for is the conduct and defence. And remember: it is always much easier to duel with friends, than what you'll face in real life."

He grabs his wand back from Dean.

 

* * *

 

They are charming the platform away, when Dean glances up. Noticing that Dean has stopped what he is doing, Castiel turns around. He frowns.

"Michael," he greets. Michael narrows his eyes.

"Auror Michael, to you." He mutters. "I entrusted responsibility of this duelling club to you to run, Castiel. I am disappointed that you gave such a lacklustre demonstration of what is expected for Duel etiquette."

Castiel pauses in what he's doing. He folds his arms, wand still in his hand. "I'm unsure as to what you're implying."

Michael glances at Dean, who has paused, not-so-subtly . "You allowed a mere _Quidditch_ teacher to outsmart you. The whole school is aware of your past profession and your family. At least attempt to demonstrate that you once belonged to such."

Dean finally turns around, frowning. "Now hold on, we're teachin' _kids_ , not goin' toe to toe against Lucifer. There's nothin wrong with taking it easy--"

"Yet, as Castiel explained numerous times, that any moment they face could be a life or death situation, and this was a viable space to practice as such. If they have no confidence in former Aurors, then how much will that say about the trust they hold for those that currently hold the position?"

"Well maybe you need to stop depending on someone who's left the profession to make it look as though _you're_ doing a good job."

Michael frowns, and steps towards Dean. Even though they're edging at the same height, he manages to leer over Dean.

"And maybe _Master Fanservice_ here should know his place."

"Yeah, well, least I know what I am."

They stare each other down a moment longer, before Michael glances to Castiel. He pulls his robe to himself. "We'll continue this conversation later, Castiel." He turns on his foot, and strides out of the hall.

As soon as he disappears, Dean groans, turning towards Cas.

"Geeze, your brother is such a --"

He halts as he feels something jab in his chest. He looks down to see Cas scowling, wand pressing against his ribcage.

"I do _not_ need defending from my own family, _Winchester_."

"Cas, I was tryin' to he--"

"And it is _not_ welcome. I am not your brother, _nor_ am I your damsel."

"Did you hear what he was even sayin'?"

"I'm not deaf." Cas presses the end in further. "Because not only do I have to argue my case about my standards of _teaching_ , but also that I apparently have an _intercessor_. It is not helpful."

Dean raises his hands, sounding small. "Yeah, fine. Won't do it again."

Castiel tucks his wand away, and his expression softens just a fraction. "I understand your sentiment, Dean. But my family do not. The last members of my family to leave the profession --"

"Was Lucifer. Yeah, I know."

"And Gabriel, but no one knows where he is. The last thing I need them to believe is that I have _followers._ "

Dean sighs. "I ain't your follower."

"No, you're my colleague."

Dean huffs out a small laugh, shuffles his feet. "I mean, I would've hoped to say you're my _friend_."

He cringes at the silence that follows, but is surprised when he forces himself to look up at Cas. Castiel is staring at him, mouth parted. He blinks at him.

"... I suppose." Cas says slowly. "I... suppose 'friend' also works."

Dean exhales, wanting to slap himself for how hopeful he feels. "Yeah?"

Castiel nods.

"Cool." Dean grins. " _Friend_  works. And friends -- we stick up for each other."


	9. A family history

_17 Years Earlier_

 

 

Chalk scratches on the blackboard, the only sound echoing throughout the tired classroom. A post-lunch class never boded well for any student; many sit with half closed eyes, doodling idly on their notes. The Professor, Naomi, drops their chalk with some fanfare. Some of the students startle.

“ _So_ ,” she starts, “Can anyone tell me what makes a Dark Wizard?”

The room falls silent.

Eventually, a girl slowly puts her hand up. She looks to her right.

“Yes, Meg?”

She glances back.

“A Dark Wizard is someone who uses their magic to gain followers and gain a following and use their magic to inflict harm, on both other wizards and muggles. They also use the unforgivable curses”

“Correct. But do you know how Dark Wizards are made?”

She falters. Naomi shakes her head, and turns back to the blackboard  
  
“There are many ways Dark Wizards and Witches come to power, class.” She starts writing on the board. “Often they have to be a Master Wizard. One cannot afford Justice if one does not know the secrets upon how to avoid it in the first place.”

She scrawls down ‘Master’.

“Secondly, they have to have a following. There is only so much destruction one Wizard or Witch can cause without garnering the attention of other magic creatures to stop them. Their power lies in numbers.”

She adds ‘Following’.

“Finally, most often it is their background that dictates their future. If a wizard has come from a sordid family, or a family with a dark past, the individuals are much more likely to go on to commit Dark Acts. Nature and Nurture often go hand in hand.”

She adds ‘upbringing’. The whole room falls to deathly silence, distinctly lacking in the ambient yawn and shuffle of stationary from drowsy students. Naomi only realises as she turns back around.

All class members are quiet, looking at one particular individual with his hand up. His face is like thunder.

She sighs.

“… Yes, Castiel?”

“ _Upbringing_ is _not_ an indicator of someone’s fate, Professor. I believe you’re wrong on that.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “I appreciate that this subject may be one that hits _particularly_ close to home for you, Mr Novak, but you cannot exclude one Dark Wizard from what appears to be a clear correlation through all our Wizarding history.”

“But you’re going to frighten other students, implying that their background dictates whether they’re going to become Dark Wizards or not.”

The Professor raises her eyebrow. “Or am I just scaring you?”

A strained silence settles in between them, long enough for her to believe that she’s made her point, before she picks the chalk back up.

“My brother is the Dark Wizard. Maybe you’re the one scared, Professor.”

Castiel looks at her, steadily. The chalk snaps in her fingers.

“ _Detention_.”

Castiel is frowning. “But I didn’t—”

“I think you’ll find you were _threatening_ a teacher, Novak, so be glad that it’s _only_ a detention I’m giving you. With the sort of attitude you’d been demonstrating, I think you’re simply making my teaching much more clear.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “I was only trying to tell the tr—”

A chair screeches so loudly against the floor, the whole class turn to look at the noise.

Dean stands at the back of the classroom, hufflepuff tie sliding from round his neck. He clenches his fist.

“Professor, you’re being _really_ unfair. You’re talkin’ about his family and calling his family evil _right_ in front of him, course he’s gonna get mad—”

“Are you trying to threaten me too, Winchester?”

Dean raises his hands, a small frown on his face. “I didn’t threaten you, _Miss_. I’m just saying how unfair it is that you’re picking him apart in front of us. All families have got crap in them, don’t mean anything about the people. Hell, even I—”

“Then that’s a detention for you _too_ , Mr Winchester, for backchatting. Now _sit down_ , before I end up taking _both_ of you up to the Headmasters office on claims for expulsion. These are very dangerous times were are living in, and we have to take precautions and be aware of the dangers and possibilities of the world we are in.”

The Professor’s sentence has the rest of the class bubble in hurried murmurs, and Naomi tangles with dragging the class into silence.

Castiel stares at Dean from his seat, who briefly shares a look with a him. Dean rubs at the back of his head, shrugs, and looks down, becoming distracted at another student punching him lightly in the shoulder. Castiel keeps watching.

It’s the first time Dean has ever talked to him.


	10. The First Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter there were two songs I had on repeat, and I'd recommend listening to them as you're reading for extra feels!  
> https://youtu.be/4l5ACTUo37g - Magic Works, by the Weird Sisters  
> https://youtu.be/20Ov0cDPZy8 - Free Fallin', by John Mayer.

The ballroom has been blanketed with what any sane person would assume are fairy lights. Or if they didn’t have magic, that’s what they would be called. Floating candles, she  _supposes_ , are a little bit more impressive. It’s depressing how you start taking this stuff for granted once you're surrounded by it constantly. The most ironic thing is students being more impressed by working electricity than by magical candles floating in the sky and somehow  _not_ being a health and safety hazard. Where does the wax go? What if an owl flies into them? 

_Wizards._

"Professor Bradbury! What do you have to say in regards to this historic occasion?"

Charlie blinks as a floating quill hovers in her face, tapping impatiently on the paper as it waits to record her words. 

Charlie peers over the paper at the student. 

“Uh,  _historic_ ?”

Ed nods eagerly, raising the paper even further. Charlie tries to ignore how easily the student still manages to loom over her.  _Sheesh._

“Well, yeah! We’ve not had an event like this in Hogwarts history, right? Well, I suppose you could call the Triwizard tournaments similar, but that’s between other  _schools. It's_ not done between the Ministry of  _Magic_ , and a student or staff member has never had the opportunity to battle the  _Minister_ in a competitive setting like this before, right?”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “You have a point…”

“ _So_ , who do you think is going to win?”

“Oh no, kiddo. I gotta stay unbiased. Who do  _you_ think is going to win?”

Ed scoffs “Claire, of _course_.”

“ _What?_ Don’t be silly. Claire’s great, and feisty, but she hasn’t got a chance.”

“Then who?”

“Probably Sam Winchester. Dean isn’t going to knock his brother down like that, not in front of the Ministry.”

“Interesting…” 

“ _Hey_ , if I see you so much as making one punctuation mark from me on that paper, you’re going to have detention until  _you_ retire.”

The student opens their mouth to dispute, frown plastered on their expression, but any noise they make is drowned out by a voice ringing out across the top of the stairs.

“Wizards and Witches, please may I introduce our Champions for this evening;”

They pause as they motion to the top of the stairs leading down into the ballroom, wand pressed to their throat as a microphone. Three figures emerge from the archway to stand at the top of the balcony.  

“Sam Winchester, Auditor for the Department of Mysteries.”

He gives an awkward bow, as though his body didn’t know it could fold.

“Dean Winchester, Quidditch Master of Hogwarts.”

A few of the female students squeak when he throws a wink at them, bowing

“And finally, Claire Novak, 4th year Student of Hogwarts.” 

Her courtesy is small, looking longingly at the stairs. 

“All attendees may be reminded that the first dance will occur just before the main speech of the evening, with their chosen partners.”

Dean blanches, and Charlie doesn’t know whether to gasp or laugh.

_Uh Oh._

 

* * *

 

Castiel tugs his arm away from Michael’s grip. The autumn Scottish breeze ruffles at their robes, out here on the balcony, but he holds his glare even in the soft hue of the Hogwarts candles.  Michael’s stare is unwavering. 

“You must believe me, Castiel.”

“You have given me  _no_ reason to trust you. First you come into my classes, criticise me, then threaten me, and  _now_ you insist you’re trying to aid me?”

“You’re well aware that I don’t spare words lightly.”

Castiel frowns. 

“I don’t know whether I can trust you.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that. But don’t let Dean win.” 

Castiel’s expression softens. 

“What’s happening, Michael?”

Michael folds his arms, stares out across the balcony, across the Hogwarts grounds and lake, now shrouded in darkness except for the soft shimmer of the moon. It is a clear night. “You know through protocol that I can’t share that information with you.”

“But if the students are in danger—”

“ _They aren’t._ Go back to your duties, Castiel. And heed my warnings.”

With that, Michael turns away and strides back into the ballroom. Castiel watches after him, before turning back to the balcony. He gives it a small kick. 

 

* * *

 

Dean hovers in front of Charlie, wringing his hands together. 

“I need a partner, Charlie.”

Charlie downs the rest of her drink, albeit a lot more quickly than she was intending. She coughs. “You’re telling me you haven’t _got_ a partner?”

“I mean, I’ve kinda been  _busy_ .”

“You have most of Hogwarts falling over themselves to have a piece of you, and you couldn’t  _find_ someone to dance with? Dean, if you so much as breathed at half the girls here tonight you’d have them for the night.”

“And they’re  _students._ Charlie, c’mon.”

“Well….. I can’t.”

“ _And why not_ ?”

“Because…” Charlie, starts, a little helplessly. Then she turns, and grabs the quill from Ed that had been floating nearby. “Because I’m helping him here with this newspaper article! I can’t help comment on the opening dance if I’m _in it,_ of course.”

"You just--" He groans, dragging his fingers through his hair, ruffling it slightly. “ Fine.  _Then help me find one."_

Charlie glances around the room. Dean was right about the students, and she hadn’t noticed it until now. Most of the students were dancing, but throwing an awful lot of glances in his direction. Charlie wasn’t the only one who had realised that Dean was lacking. So to say.

Not good. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone approaching. She blinks, and waves. 

“Cas, over here!”

 

* * *

 

Castiel and Dean stare at each other for a moment at Charlie’s question, as though they’re sharing the same memory.

Castiel glances over to Michael, whom is on the other side of the room.

“Yes, of course.” He mutters, still looking at Michael. He takes Dean’s wrist, pulling him onto the dance floor. 

Dean looks at Charlie, and tries not to feel flustered.

 

* * *

 

If Dean hadn’t noticed the stares of the others before, he  _certainly_ was now. He and Castiel shuffle to the centre of the dance floor. They both stand and look at each other. Dean, after a moment, rubs the back of his neck.

“I’m uh, I’m sorry about this.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Why are you apologising?”

Dean snorts, motions to the room. “Gettin’ pulled in to dance with me. Dancin’ with another guy is pretty embarassin’.”

“I disagree.”

Castiel raises a hand towards Dean, which, after a moment, Dean takes. Cas places his other hand on Dean’s waist, and pulls Dean closer. Dean is so taken by surprise he nearly headbutts Cas. 

Castiel leans in, and Dean loses his breath.

“I need to talk with you.” He murmurs, and the music starts, lights dimming. Only the candles hover above the floor. 

_So, believe_  
_That magic works  
_ _Don't be afraid  
_ _Of being hurt_

“Oh?” Dean finally manages. 

“There’s something wrong. Michael tried to warn me, but wouldn’t say what.”

“Oh.” Dean says, and the tightness in his chest loosens. Shop. He could talk shop. “Yeah, you mentioned something was up a while ago.”

“Michael was trying to warn me off allowing you to continue with the tournament, to not allow you to win.”

“Huh. What, he’s scared of me being better?”

“He’s scared. And Michael doesn’t  _do_ scared.”

Castiel gazes up at Dean, and Dean falls silent as they look at each other. They haven’t stood this close since they were teenagers. It strikes him now just how much Castiel has, well,  _grown up_ . His hair is darker. His stubble. He'd always had those piercing blue eyes, but they now wear war like an old coat . 

Dean barely realises they’d almost stopped moving until he feels Cas squeeze his hand. 

“Dean.”

“Hm — Yeah?”

“What are you going to do?”

Dean blinks.

“… Well, I suppose I'm gonna enjoy this dance for one.”

Castiel frowns. “We’re barely—”

“And  _then_ I’ll tell the Head Auror where he can go shove it.”

Castiel sighs. “I hope you enjoy your last dance alive, if that’s your plan.”

Dean grins, wickedly. “You should be honoured, Professor. Most of the girls here would probably curse you to be in your place.”

Castiel throws a half-hearted glare. “It’s not the students who don’t even know how to perform a disarm spell that you should be worried about, _Winchester_.”

“Then it’s a good job that charms are my specialty, huh?”

He blinks at Dean, the subtlety of the joke catching him off guard so much that a smile splits his features, that Castiel laughs. Dean watches him, amused, and holds onto him tighter so that he doesn’t pull both of them off balance.

They barely realise that the dance has come to the end, if it were not for a scattered round of applause from those watching. Both of them look around. It takes a moment for Dean to let go of Cas. He folds his arms, suddenly feeling rather exposed.

“Uh.. thanks. It would’ve been awkward if I was just waltzing by myself.”

Castiel nods, still fighting off the smile. “My pleasure.”

He turns and exits the dance floor. Dean watches him leave, and doesn’t realise how hard he’s smiling until he turns around and sees Charlie and Sam stood watching.

They’re grinning.  


	11. The Headmasters Office

The quill scratches on the thick parchment. Professor Singer sits at his desk, pausing for a moment to dip the quill in the ink. His penmanship is slow, and a little shaky, but trained.  
  
The staircase groans as it rotates, but Bobby doesn't look up from his desk until he hears the footsteps of the new arrival approach. Bobby glances up, peering over his reading glasses at the figure. He places the quill down beside the parchment.  
  
“Minister Shurley. Here, take a seat.” The seat slides back, of it’s own accord.  
  
Chuck stands before the desk, fidgeting for a moment. He eyes the parchment, before hesitantly taking his seat. “Do you not use a charm to let the quill scribe for you? I mean - I always found it a pretty cool trick, being able to do that, I mean.”  
  
Bobby looks at Chuck, then at the quill. He leans back, grabs the glass bottle behind him, and two small glasses, setting them on the desk. He pours both of them a glass of whiskey, whether or not Chuck wanted it or not.  
  
“I like to see and feel what I’m writing, Minister.” Bobby simply replies, tilting the glass back against his lips. He places it back on the wooden desk with a soft chnk. “To what can I owe the visit?”  
  
Chuck eyes the glass almost warily, but doesn’t reach for it. This was by far not the first time he’d been in the Headmaster’s office, but he still spends a few minutes gazing around at all the portraits, mouth open in an awestruck manner. Bobby waits patiently for Chuck to turn his attention back to him; again, this was rather a regular occurrence. Frankly, he found the portraits annoying after a while. Apparently being Headmaster also meant no privacy.  
  
“S’pose you’ve got a whole heap more portraits in your office, eh?” Bobby asks, when the pause becomes too long. Chuck almost startles, head jerking back to the Headmaster. He quickly shakes his head.

“Er… no, not really. I had them all moved out of the office. Kind of gave me the heebie jeebies, y’know?” He mumbles. He stares down at his hands for a second, before using his right one to run a hand across his forehead. “I just wanted to ask about… well. About the security, at Hogwarts.”  
  
Bobby grunts. “I believe we’d already had the conversation, Chuck. And I’ve also repeated the same conversation with the Head Auror. And with most of my staff, Minister. Hogwarts is as safe a place as any wizard is going to get.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I just wanted to go back over the details. Lucifer has been… rather silent since the attack in Hastings. I understand your difficulty with the Dementors, but I do think it best to keep them. If only I could get away with that closer to the Ministry.” Chuck sighs, longingly. “Obviously the tournament is a prime target for any attacks - as the main challenges being out in the grounds.”

“Don’t worry. Castiel is more than capable of ensuring defences are beyond standards, even if his brother doesn’t think so.” Bobby mutters. He watches Chuck for a moment, and frowns. “Is… is that why you’re here, Minister?”

Chuck raises his head. “Huh?”

“Hogwarts is the safest place for anyone. Is that why you’re here, Chuck?” He starts, “You’ve hardly been in the post two minutes. Most Ministers get snowed under for the next six months when they assume office.”

Chuck stares at him. Eventually, he reaches out, hand in a tremor, to the glass of whiskey. He downs it in one go, and slams it back down on the desk. “I-- I - you shouldn’t be making such… lewd assumptions, Headmaster. I’m perfectly fine. It’s the students welfare I’m concerned about. That’s all.”

Bobby studies him for a second. “Alright.” He remarks. “Sorry, Minister. Didn’t mean to accuse such a thing.”

“That’s alright.” Chuck mumbles, and the chair huffs back a few inches as he stands. “Well, thanks for your time, Bobby. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Sure.”

Chuck gives a small, nervous nod, before turning away and heading down the staircase. Bobby watches him until the statue falls into place, silent.

He picks up his quill, and dips it in ink. He writes.


	12. A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some readers might find some of this chapter upsetting regarding minors. Please see notes at the end for full details.

Castiel grips the wand in his hand.  _Steady_ , he tells himself. 

The rest of the Aurors are some way behind him, at the other end of the corridor he’s just reached the end of. They split up to cover the building more efficiently. Going in pairs was generally the norm, but (as much as Castiel himself had argued otherwise), with Lucifer running left, right, and centre, they were all stretched thin on the ground. Both from work, and from loss of numbers.

Castiel presses on. He closes his eyes, feeling the echo of movement from somewhere around the corner. He presses himself to the edge of the wall. He pauses, raises his wand, before peering around the corner. 

There are two children stood at the end of the corridor, side by side. The twins. They couldn’t be much more than eight years old. These were the children they’d been sent to recover. Or rather, Castiel had made it  _his_ mission to recover. They’d already found their parents dead, left with Lucifer’s calling card, a red rose. Maybe Lucifer was still on the scene. Castiel knew which one Michael would be insistent on tracing first. 

Castiel slowly shuffles around the corner when the children don’t move, and lowers himself to a crouch. He glances at his wand, and a soft light shines from the end of it. The children turn to look at him. 

“Hello,” Castiel tries, awkwardly. “I’m… I’m from the ministry. You’re safe now.” 

The children stare at him, but he’s too far away to read their expressions. He edges closer.

“My name is Castiel. I want to help you.”

He stops when the girl, hair tied in soft rings of a short ponytail, steps forward. She’s silent for a few moments, stares through him, before she slowly raises a finger. It stops after it lands directly on his face.

“You’re an Auror.” She states. Castiel nods, eyes flickering to the other child, the boy. He was holding tightly onto the girl’s hand. The younger, shy, child, he can only assume. 

“He told us we have to hurt Aurors.”

Castiel draws up his wand. “He?” He asks, warily.

“Yes.”

Castiel takes a breath, eyes scanning the room.

“You don’t have to hurt anybody.”

She lowers her hand. 

“Yes, we do.”

She storms forward, hand curling into a fist, and Castiel almost falls backwards as he staggers to his feet, backing up. 

Fire curls along the rug that follows between them, and Cas feels sick.

Lucifer.  _Cruciatus_. 

He twists his head around, wondering if the man himself was lurking around the corner. He couldn’t see nor sense anything. Of course. Lucifer wouldn’t want to do this sort of grunt work himself. 

And no one wants to kill a child. 

Finding himself backed against the wall, Castiel grips his wand in his hand, and squeezes his eyes shut in concentration.

“ _Aguamenti_.” He whispers, and water sinks into the carpet. 

He feels the flicker of the flames reside, and he opens his eyes.

She stands, unmoved.

He looks at her.

"You don't need to hurt anyone."

The walls crunch and Castiel has less than a second before the plaster erupts behind him. He throws himself face first to the ground, hoping that the water has done its job and doused out the rest of the fire. 

He is coated in brick and rubble, and he coughs as he pulls himself to his hand and knees, eyes squeezed shut. As soon as the wall stops falling apart he rests on his ankles, trying to free his face free of plaster and dust by rubbing his face with the sleeve of his robes.  He opens his eyes.

They were stood watching Cas, stood at the edge of the radius of rubble that had surrounded him Even if the children had no concept of how to control their magic, they certainly knew how to prevent the magic from hurting themselves. He pants.

“Lucifer is  _controlling_ you. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to  _save_ you.”

They look at each other. Castiel glances to his right, where the corridor leads to where the rest of the Aurors will be. The corridor is now filled with debris and is almost impassible without the use of magic and some skilful dexterity. He’s unsure how they haven’t heard the commotion, and the first strike of panic clenches at his stomach. He holds onto it, and buries it deep.

“You have control over this. You don’t have to hurt anyone. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The siblings stop looking at each other. She clenches her fist. 

“No, you’re gonna take us away from our mummy and daddy and each other. We’ll never see each other again. That’s what  _he_ said.”

Cas is watching them, and out of the peripheral of his vision, sees the rubble and shrapnel start rising around him, watches it wobble as it turns, crowding him. He grips his wand, feeling his knuckles whiten.

“That’s not true. I promise you — that’s not true. We want you to be safe.  _I_ want you to be safe.”

The boy takes her sisters hand. The levitating rubble spins, and shoots towards him.

Castiel throws out his wand. “ _Protego_!”

He watches, arm raised over his head, as the shield shimmers above him as bricks start raining towards him, debris crashing around as some of them shatter on impact. The only thing Castiel can hear outside of the ruckus his is own breathing - something that he’s barely doing. 

Within a minute the assault begins to slow, debris piling at bottom of the shield around him. A slow haze of dust rises around him from the plaster, and he slowly crawls to the edge of the shield, wondering why he couldn’t see them any longer - and then he stops.

_In the rubble._

Before the last brick falls Castiel removes the charm, staggering to his feet as he approaches the children. He has to dig out the boy from under the bricks. There is no movement.

“ _Come on_ ,” Castiel pleads, fingers pressing to soft wrists for signs of a pulse. “ _Ferula_.”

He can hear the bones crack and snap into place (wincing), but there is no sign of movement from the boy himself. Castiel forgets how to breathe.

“ _V_ _ulnera Sanentur._ ” Castiel whispers again, and watches at the gash heals on his forehead, but there is no response. He squeezes the boys wrist, head cycling with other healing spells. He wants to shout for the others, but he knows they have less knowledge of healing spells than he does. 

By the time he pulls his body to find the girl, he pulls one brick out, replaces it, and watches as his own vision doubles.

It is the others who find him first.

Michael stands over him, Anna trying to pull the boy out of his arms. Castiel shakes his head. “ _No,_ _no_ ,” he murmurs, staring at his wand, broken, near the empty wall.

 

* * *

 

Castiel opens his eyes.

_No._ His lips echo, voicelessly, as he stares up at the stone ceiling of his Hogwarts quarters. Shakily, he pulls himself to sitting, rubbing at his face. Maybe he should have taken on to training Claire for the tournament. He’d be able to teach her, to help--

He turns his head, looking out of his window that looks over the Quidditch pitch.

He turns back around, sliding out of bed, and ignores the shake in his hand as he picks up his wand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains upsetting descriptions of injury and death to families, particularly of the children.


	13. The Quidditch Match

It's not hard to feel the beginnings of winter crawl in. Dean's practices that morning consisted of foggy mornings and numb hands. The sun has been spending his last practice flickering behind the stadium.

The students he's overseeing acknowledge Cas before he does. One of the students waves behind him.

"Professor Novak! Hi!"

Cas waits until he's close enough, stepping beside Dean. He nods. "Hello, Jack." he says, and then nods at Dean without smiling. 

"What are you doing here, Sir?" they ask, then gasp rather dramatically. "-- Are you here to teach us?!" 

Dean snorts. "Nah, he's here to--"

"Boo! Sir, you should teach us! It'd be right fun! Bet you're great at quidditch" 

This train of thought encourages the others, and soon there's a raucous crowd of chanting from the students.

Dean and Cas stand there, watching. 

Dean looks at Cas. He raises an eyebrow. 

"Well, what are you going to do about this, Professor? ... Or are you too chicken for a rematch, Novak?"

Slowly, Cas turns his head towards Dean. His expression is unreadable. 

"You don't know what you're asking of me, Winchester," Cas says - no, growls.

Dean grins.

"Bring it _on_."

He grabs his broom and throws a spare one to Cas, who catches it with one hand. The students erupt into cheers. 

Cas rolls his eyes, steps over the broom, and kicks off the ground, launching himself into the air and around the stadium in a practice lap. Students cheer after him and Dean doesn’t lose his grin, not taking long to follow up after him, hovering above the students.

“Alright kids, we got ourselves a match. Professor Novak and I are going to be the Seekers on either team. Claire, seeing as you need to save yourself, you can referee. I’m trusting you with this, alright?” He says, throwing her the whistle. They juggle with it in surprise, but run off with a small _yess_.

Castiel rejoins them as everyone jumps on their own brooms to get into position, stopping beside Dean with alarming speed. The movement has ruffled his hair up already, and Dean tries to not look at it too long.

“We’re the seekers. That alright?”

Castiel nods.

They both look down, and wait for the whistle. Dean hunkers his shoulders down, leaning against the broom as close as possible…

The whistle rings so loudly, Dean tucks away a thought in the back of his mind to threaten detention to Claire if they’ve broken his whistle, tournament or no. That was his favourite whistle, too.

Despite his derailing thoughts, muscle memory serves him well, and he skids round the perimeter of the pitch, getting a feel for the pitch, the air, and the team that are flying around him. He looks around and—

There it is. Dancing about 200 feet ahead of him. The snitch. Glancing to his side as a beater flies past him, Dean leans forward and soars through the sky, hand reaching out.

He is within leaping distance of the snitch when he feels the air shift around him, only to have enough time to look to his right and roll under his broom as Cas charges above him. Grunting, Dean rolls himself back upright, growling at the Professor.

“Dude! Coulda knocked me off!”

Cas barely looks back, eyes sharp, and turns to look at where the snitch has disappeared. Dean follows his eye line, and when their eyes meet again, Castiel smirks. He flies off.

Oh, it’s _on_.

Dean twists his broom in a u-turn, turning behind him to chase after Cas. As with most quidditch matches, it was very easy to forget about the rest of the team on the pitch, and Dean's only focus became what was in front of him; Cas and getting that snitch.

The snitch dances along the pitch, waltzing its way around one of the towers. Ahead of him, Cas abruptly alters his course to fly around the opposite side of the tower, hoping to meet it on the other side. Dean flies up, and skirts along the top of the tower until he's overhead. 

The snitch and Cas nearly meet, before it flies out of Cas's reach and flutters up, near Dean. Dean leans down, feeling the breath rush out of his lungs as he swoops down to try and meet it halfway. In his peripheral, he sees Cas flying up towards him. 

They were going to crash.

Cas reaches up, and grabs Dean's robes, pulling so hard to throw Dean away. Dean grabs hold of Cas and refuses to let go, and they both spin in the air. 

"That's a foul," Dean mutters, voicelessly, but he isn't the referee of this game. And neither does he find himself caring. In their wild flailing Dean catches the snitch out of the corner of his eye, hovering over some of the benches by the Ravenclaw stand. He uses Cas to launch himself away, but Cas is only moments behind him, and they crash into each other in the side of the stand, ripping the fabric of the Ravenclaw insignia as they try to knock each other out of the way. 

Dean grunts as Cas manages to kick the end of his broom, jerking him into some of the scaffolding. Dean untangles himself from the stand, adjusting his balance, and he looks down. 

The snitch has swooped near towards the bottom of the pitch, by the referee. Cas is inches behind it, stood on his broom, hand outstretched. 

Dean throws himself to the bottom of the stadium, legs wrapped tight around the broom as he reaches his arms out. He tackles Cas from behind and they both go flying onto the grass, rolling. The snitch is between both of them, they can hear the distinct buzz, and they tackle and wrestle over the pitch, yelling at the other to get off. Dean eventually managed to lay on Castiel's midsection, digging fingers into the tendon on his wrists to get Cas to let go. Cas resists for a remarkable length of time until Dean puts weight on his elbow and with a growl Cas is forced to open his hand. 

Dean grabs the snitch and staggers to his feet, holding up the snitch triumphantly.

"I got it! I won!"

It's only then he realises that the whole match had stopped in favour of watching them. Claire slowly raises one of her eyebrows. 

"Actually, _both_ of you are disqualified."

Cas joins Dean, hair mussed and robes covered in grass stains. " _What_?" He exclaims. 

Dean begins to laugh. He hasn't laughed that hard in months. 

 

* * *

  
Feeling light, Dean asks Cas after the practice has finished whether he wants to join him for a drink at the Three Broomsticks. Cas, red-faced and eyes bright from the match, nods at him with a smile.

The evening has found itself clear, stars hanging above the valley of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. They are huddled in a corner, by a misted window. Cas is gazing into his butterbeer as though it’s about to climb in his throat of its own accord. Dean inches his mug across the table, until it lightly taps his.

“A toast, to a graceful loser.” Dean remarks, taking a deep drink. When he lowers the mug Cas is glaring at him.

“I did not lose.”

“Hey, I think you found we both did.”

Cas tilts his head, and reaches for his drink. He raises his own.

“To quidditch teachers who are clearly wrong.”

As Cas wipes at his stubble, finishing his swig, Dean leans forward. He tilts his head.

“You do a lot of flyin’? Like, as an auror?”

Cas falls quiet. Then; “Yes. There were a few occasions I had to take pursuit, or travel short distance in an emergency. Sometimes using portkeys highlights the use of magic, and can attract even more unwanted attention.”

Dean watches him, eyes wide. “So… you ever caught anyone in a high speed pursuit?”

Cas nods. “Someone trying to escape conviction of using harmful magic on a prominent muggle.”

“Who was the muggle?”

“Someone named John Osbourne. He’s—”

“ _Ozzy Osbourne_?”

Castiel gives him a blank stare. Dean shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

“Man, you _are_ sheltered. Always forget how much— yeah.” He motions. “But…why’d you leave?”

Cas stares. “What?”

“It, uh. It sounds like you did some awesome things as an Auror. So why’d you leave?”

Cas looks down, holding onto his mug significantly tighter, and falls silent. The silence is so prolonged that Dean is about to cough, change the subject — and Cas opens his mouth. He stares at the table between them.

“I couldn’t let children die again.”

Castiel lays his heart on the table, gives Dean what he asks, but as he speaks and anger curls at his chest, all Dean can find himself doing is… looking. Looking at Cas, the soft laughter lines against his eyes creasing as he frowns, the way he rubs calloused fingers against the stubble on his cheek. The way he curls over his drink, his waistcoat and grass-stained robe dwarfing him for once in his life.

When Cas finally lifts his head, blue eyes holding onto him, Dean forgets how to breathe.

Dean can’t help himself. He reaches a hand forward, places it on Cas’ shoulder. “You’re one of the best teachers those kids have had,” He says, earnestly. His hand lingers too long, words left too empty. He withdraws, with Cas still watching him. “I mean, heck of a lot better than our Professor ever was.”

Cas is quiet for a moment, glancing down to his shoulder where Dean has just had his hand. He looks up. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grins. “Jury’s still out though. Unless you could aid my love for the Grindylows like Professor Naomi could, then you still got some work to do.”

Castiel spits out his drink, choking from unexpected laughter. He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.

“You bastard, that came out of my _nose_.”

Dean sighs, dramatically. He even raises a hand to his head. “Alas, no one shall ever take the Grindylows like the majestic creatures they deserve to be recognised as.” He declares, dramatically. “Will no one do them justice?”

“I’m sure they will give you lots of justice, if they get to exchange ideas with the Dementors.”

“ _Ow_.”

Cas watches him with the smallest of quirks to his lips, taking a sip with a glint in his eye.

Dean finishes the rest of his drink. “Well _fine_ , Professor. You’d better walk me home just in case those Grindylows decide to swoop in on Dementor horseback to have me for breakfast too.”

As they leave, Dean ignores Cas’ gentle protesting of ‘Grindylows can’t survive outside of water, you should know that Dean-’,

resisting the urge to touch the small of his back as they wander back to Hogwarts, shoulders pressing together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me diabetes while writing it. It's probably why it took so long to update woops


	14. The First Challenge

Dean lightly kicks at the end of Sam's broom. Sam yanks it away from his reach, pulling a face at his brother.

"Hey, I gotta fly on that."

Dean grins. "Hey, takes more than that to break a broom. You'll be fine." 

Sam narrows his eyes, adjusting the gloves on his broom. Dean can see that they're shaking, even now. "You're in a good mood. Feeling confident?"

"I mean, _yeah_." Dean smirks. "I might just be feeling kinda on top of this challenge."

He remembers the day before, when Cas had entered his cramped office after the school's sessions had been done for the day. Dean had smiled at him, until he'd spotted the envelope clutched in the Professor's hand. It had been the details of their challenge. 

They're stood in the middle of the quidditch pitch; he, Sam, and Claire, all throwing their gear on. Despite facing Sam his gaze flickers to the right of him, seeing Claire in his peripheral. Jody is hovering around her like some sort of constipated Hen, and Claire is just staring at the ground, a frown on her face. Dean's seen that 'I want you to get out of my face but I’ll probably be expelled if I open my mouth’ look all too often.

He looks forward, only to find Cas standing in front of him. He staggers backwards in surprise.

"Geeze, Cas, personal space?"

Cas squints. He hears Sam snort, and opts to ignore him. 

The whole stadium is fit to bursting, despite it being a very overcast day. Dean had been out a lot in the quidditch pitch, so it wouldn't surprise him if it was going to start raining later. They _were_ in Scotland, after all. This wasn't exactly the Bahamas.

He wonders briefly what the Wizarding School is like in the Caribbean. They'd probably have flying surfing lessons. 

Dean wonders if he can make a transfer. 

"Are you ready, Dean?" Cas asks him, pulling him out of his temporary daydream.

Dean shrugs. 

"Can't get anymore prepared than I am now." 

Cas nods. "You _are_ the expert out of both of us in this particular matter." 

Dean raises one shoulder. "Hey now, don't put yourself down. Nearly knocked me out in the game the other day."

"Yes, and we were both disqualified." 

"Student rules don't count." 

The audience ambience suddenly drops a level, and all of them turn to see what the reason is. Chuck has stepped onto the pitch. Michael and Meg are at his side, along with the Headmaster. Cas stiffens considerably. 

"Ladies and Gentleman," Chuck announces, wand pressed to his throat in an amplifying spell. His voice wavers as he tries, unused to the effect of the volume. "I - I hope you're ready for a great competition!"

He pauses for a bit too long, but there is still enthusiastic clapping. Chuck clears his throat. 

"Ah, yes. So the challenge is - well. All our participants are to race around a marked track around the Hogwarts grounds with the use of brooms. Any other aids are forbidden, except those of self defence. It - it's simple enough, really."

Meg approaches them, with a bored look on her face. "Are you all ready?" She asks. Cas is glaring at her, but says nothing. Dean glances to him, then to her. "What, you the referee?"

"No, I'm just here to stand and look as useless as you. _Now_ are you ready?"

Dean mutters under his breath. "Yeah, whatever. I'm ready."

"Same." Sam adds, with the same cold tone that Cas is giving her. 

Claire just rolls her eyes, throwing her leg over her broom. Meg folds her arms. 

"Gee, don't sound _too_ excited," she states, before turning to look back at Chuck. Chuck looks at Bobby. He holds up a whistle. 

Cas and Jody take a step back, and after a moment, the sound of the whistle blows through the grounds. 

Three brooms launch into the air, and the stadium erupts in cheers. 

It is windier, up here. Dean can feel his cheeks burning as he soars up, skimming past the roof tiles of the main tower. There are lights hovering all around the grounds, marking out their racetrack. Dean wants to laugh at how easy this is going to be. 

And then he gets hit in the head. 

He crashes onto the roof, nearly sliding off his broom completely, and looks around, disorientated. He hears the whistle of the object moving before he ducks, and he watches as it flies towards Sam.

A Quaffle. 

Dean rolls his eyes. Then he looks up. 

Sam flies by him, precariously to say the least, waving his arms at his hair. Cornish Pixies. Chasing him.

Dean laughs. Then realises he's in the middle of a race. _Shit._

He grabs his broom (feeling incredibly cool) and leaps off the roof, landing on his broom in mid-air. He restarts his place in the race, realising he's now in last place. He isn't worried. 

Jody and Cas watch from the ground, arms folded against the stubborn breeze. Somewhere in the background, an announcer - some 6th year student - is commenting on what is happening. Neither of the teachers aren’t really paying attention, eyes following the small figures in the sky.

"This is almost unfairly in Dean's favour," Jody comments. "At least, that's what Claire kept telling me."

"She isn't wrong, but Dean already knows that. And that will make him arrogant." Cas sighs. "So I'm not holding any expectations."  
Jody raises an eyebrow. 

"You're expecting him to lose?"

Cas smiles. "No, but humility wouldn't hurt him any."

The audience suddenly gasps, and they look up suddenly. Castiel's heart stops.

" _Fuck_." He says.

* * *

" _Fuck_ ," Dean spits, pulling out his wand from under his robes. He screws his eyes shut, trying to focus on the darkness seeping into the edges of his mind. He glances behind him.

Dementors. 

He tries to look down, to see if anyone on the stadium has spotted, tries to see if Cas or even Michael is there. Sam and Claire are still ahead of him, thankfully. At least the Dementors haven't gotten to them yet. 

He's assuming - well, more _hoping_ that this wasn't part of the challenge. Because hell, he's got some _words_ if he ever makes it out of this. 

He leans forward on his broom, increasing his speed a little to lengthen the distance, and spins around on his broom.

"Expecto -- Patronum--"

Nothing. He knows that there's going to be nothing. Cursing, he keeps moving, forcing to take a detour and move off course, if only to get them away from the others, and from the students. He can hear screams coming from the crowd. The competition is going to be abandoned soon if something isn't done. 

Dean looks up, and with a small yell, flies right into a window. Darkness surrounds him.

* * *

" _DEAN!_ " Cas is yelling, sprinting towards the end of the pitch. He turns to person closest to him, which happens to Michael. "Get me a broom, I have to --"

"You told me that you had those Dementors under control, Castiel," Michael seethes back, ignoring his demand. "The whole school is in danger--"

" _You're_ the ones who sent them here!" Castiel cuts him off, much to Michael;s subdued shock. "Don't _fuck_ with me Michael, I need to get up there and clean your mess, _now-_ \--"

" _Claire_!" 

They hear Jody scream, and all stop in their arguing to look up. 

More than two dozen Dementors soar through the sky, with one lone girl flying away from them.

* * *

Dean crawls out from the window. He can feel the sting of glass on his cheeks.

"Get -- get away from me!"

Rubbing what is probably blood away from his eyes, Dean looks dazedly as he sees Claire fly above the Lake, with the Dementors pursuing her. Dean doesn't know where his broom is, but his wand is gripped tight in his hand. 

_the soft taste of chocolate given by calloused hands. breathless laughs in soft lamplight, blue eyes reflected in half empty glasses of butterbeer. Shoulders pressing, ever leaning in a question, a hand hovering over a waist---_

He raises his wand. 

" _Expecto Patronum_."

* * *

"What is _that_?" Jody gasps, as silver bursts towards the Dementors.

"A Patronus." Michael mutters, trying not to sound relieved.

"A Thestral." Cas murmurs, watching in awe. 

* * *

When Dean finally lands, Claire already bundled up by Jody and Bobby after the Dementors were expelled, the first thing Dean does is march up to Michael. Looking furious.

" _You_." He hisses, jabbing a finger in his chest. "You are up to _no_ good, and you nearly just got a child _killed_.”

Michael growls. "You'd better watch where you stand, Winchester. You don't know what you're talking about."

" _Dean_ ," Cas urges, appearing between them. "Leave it."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about." Dean continues, ignoring Cas for the moment. "Every time trouble happens you're _right_ there. You might think you're fooling people but you ain't fooling _me_."

Michael looks at him, steadily. "You can't prove anything, Winchester."

"Dean," Cas repeats, and he reaches out, grasping his wrist. Dean finally looks at him. He falls silent. 

Castiel shoots a final glare at Michael, before pulling him away. "You're injured, Dean. We need to get you checked."

"More than my face that's injured," He murmurs, adrenaline leaving his hands to shake. He falls quiet as he looks down at Cas' hand, firm on his wrist.

 


	15. A Meeting On The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has some words for Castiel.

Castiel’s footsteps echo down the suspension bridge as he walks alone. The sun has long since set, and Cas stops for a moment to close his eyes, listening to the rain as it drums on the roof above him.

He had taken Dean to the hospital wing, ignoring his increasingly louder complaints. Once he’d seen that he’d be tended to Castiel had made his leave, if not with some hesitance. Dean wasn’t a student, after all.

Castiel opens his eyes, and sees a figure stood at the doorway that he is walking towards.

They start walking towards him.

Cas feels his hand start to hover towards his wand, hidden in the pocket of his waistcoat, until the figure walks underneath some of the candles lighting up the bridge. It’s Michael.

He moves his hand away, but keeps his guard up.

“Yes, Michael?” He questions, once the other has come within earshot. Michael comes to a stop, and watches him for a moment.

“Castiel,” he starts. “Quite the eventful day you’ve had.”

“If you’re here to bemoan the fact that the Dementors made yet another interruption the goings on at Hogwarts, then you’ve already made your point clear enough; despite the fact that I have already told you that the blame for this can fall on no one but the Ministry.”

“That wasn’t necessarily what I was coming here to talk to you about,” Michael replies, after a pause. Cas’ eyebrows raise. “Though it’s clear whatever precautions you had put in place have failed.”

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, and Michael cuts him off. “Rather than making sure that the space was safe from anymore influence of the Dark Arts after the event, you were very much quick to leave the area and attend to someone’s minor injuries instead.”

Castiel squints, brow furrowing. “I’m sorry. I thought the _Head Auror_ being present would have been than enough precaution for him to do _his_ duty.”

“I am not a staff member of this school.” Michael hisses, taking a step forward, “It is my responsibility to ensure the safety of the Minister of Magic, and all other Ministry escorts.”

“Of which one was involved _directly_ with the incident.” Castiel rebuts, then tilts his head. “What is this really about, Michael?”

Michael pauses. “You’re being distracted.”

“Distracted?”

“Yes. You’re becoming too close to your colleagues.”

Castiel, for a moment, blanches. Then; “You mean Dean.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s affecting the judgement of your duties, Castiel. You’re already aware in our field what a danger that—”

“No, apologies. I don’t understand why you believe you have authority in this matter. The only one who should raise concerns with me about this is Professor Singer.”

“You don’t just leave the profession of Auror, Castiel. Your recklessness is going to put everyone in danger, —”

Michael stops, suddenly, looking up and behind him. Castiel frowns, and follows his eye line.

Someone is walking towards them, and it takes a few moments for him to realise that it’s Sam Winchester. From the frown on his expression, it appears that he heard their conversation.

“I don’t think Castiel has anything to apologise for,” Sam comments, as he casually approaches. “Professor Singer would have hired him for a reason. If Bobby trusts him, then we should.”

Michael eyes Sam for a moment, before looking back to Cas. “I was hoping you would be an ally.”

“I don’t see how acting in your orders counts as being an ally, Michael. We’re not fighting for different things, here.”

Michael holds his gaze for a tentative amount of time. With one final look at Sam, he turns away. “I’ll leave you to think on what we talked about.” He says, and walks behind them, disappearing. Eventually, Castiel looks at Sam.

“I’m sorry you had to overhear that.”

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t apologise. I think his position gets to his head.”

“Were you on your way to see Dean?”

“The Owlery, actually. I was sending Jess a letter about what happened today. She’s been asking me to keep her updated.”

“Jessica… Moore?”

Sam nods, and a slight blush tinges as his cheeks. “Yeah. It was after you left, so not long.”

“Does Dean know?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “I think he’d know, even if I tried not to tell him.” He places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Thanks for looking out for him, by the way. I don’t think I ever thanked you - he’s too busy looking out for others sometimes. He’ll appreciate having someone at his back.”

Castiel tries to hide his smile.


	16. Seeking Friends

_17 Years Previously_

 

‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our penultimate match for the Quidditch inter-House cup, between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor!”

Cheers roar across the stands, colours of red and yellows flickering along the stadium. Dean grins as he marches across the pitch, the rest of his team behind him. It was the closest they’d come to winning the cup since he became Captain.

His grin fades as the other team approaches. He cocks his head towards the Gryffindor Captain, Jody.

“Where’s your Seeker?”

She looks behind her. “Right there,” she responds. Dean’s eyes fall on Castiel. He frowns.

“Where’s Jo?”

“Grounded. She’s been suspended from playing for the rest of the year.” She smirks. “What’s wrong, Winchester? Have I thrown you off your strategy?”

“ _No_ ,” Dean says indignantly, eyes not leaving the replacement seeker. He’d been looking to, well, _bumping brooms_ with Jo.

The pre-match whistle blows, and they break to assume position for the start of the match.

He watches as Castiel silently strides to the back of his team, throwing his leg over the broom. He can’t recall ever seeing Castiel fly before. Jody must have been pretty desperate for a replacement if she’d chosen _that_ guy out of the whole House.

The audience in the stands fall into a hushed silence; waiting.

The Quaffle is thrown into the air.

The sky is an entanglement of mess, robes and brooms and players all finding their place in the air. Dean rises up to the middle of the pitch, looking around. They usually staggered the release of the snitch, so it could be some time before it appears. He tilts gently so the side as a Bludger flies by him, not leaving his gaze trained on the the rest of the pitch, slowly scanning it for any sign of the snitch.

He catches something out of the corner of his eye. As he turns around, he sees Castiel diving down towards the bottom of the pitch. He sees the snitch, having just been released. For a few moments Dean forgets to even move, so lost in how quickly Castiel managed to spot the snitch, and then his brain kicks into gear. He pushes at the end of his broom, and swoops down to meet where he can now see it, flickering around with a low buzz.

Castiel glances up just as he’s about to reach for the snitch, and Dean feels panic rise as he realises that Cas isn’t moving out of the way.

Just before Dean barrels into him, Cas spins upside down on his broom, and Dean nearly flies outside the boundary line. Swearing as he pulls his broom up to stop himself, he turns back to see where Cas has gone. Cas has righted to top of the broom, and Dean swears that Cas smirks at him, before turning and flying off to pursue his goal of finding the snitch.

_I got detention for this guy?_ He thinks to himself, before pressing forward and beginning to fly after him. Dude clearly had a better eye for catching the snitch, so like hell he was gonna let Cas get on top of him.

Before he sets off, Dean stops.

The snitch is in front of him, mere inches away from his eyes.

He reaches out, and the chase begins.

All thoughts about Cas forgotten, he chases after the snitch as it zooms around the perimeter of the pitch. Somewhere distant, he can hear the announcer’s voice rising in anticipation of his inevitable win…

He hears the gasp before he sees Castiel, flying towards the snitch, which is flying towards him —

And flying towards him, is Cas—

Dean opens his mouth, to yell at him or to _yell_ , he isn’t quite sure yet, but his hand still stays stretched out, reaching out for the snitch.

He feels the snitch’s wings flutter underneath his fingers, and he clenches his hand and—

The wind is knocked out of him as they both collide, brooms tangling between each other. The force stops their flight completely and they fall towards the ground, capes wrapping around their shoulders and heads. Growling, Dean pushes at Cas, and in their tumble they spin round and round each other, and Dean wonders when they’ll—

They strike the ground with a bruising thump, both yelling as their brooms bounce somewhere off the ground. The shock of hitting the ground has Dean unclench his fist and Cas tackles him, grabbing at his hand in an effort to snatch the snitch from him.

“Get _off_!” Dean shouts, trying to push Cas off by the chest, trying to fight his own robes from obscuring his view. His back presses against the sodden grass, and they roll around the floor, trying to press each other’s wrists back enough that the other will relent.

All of a sudden, he feels himself dragged away from Cas by the edge of his cape, grass stains marking his boots. He looks up, only to see Jody staring above him. The whole match has stopped.

Castiel throws himself to his feet, trying to march his way back over. “I _had_ it, _Winchester_! You grabbed it off of me— and,”

“ _What_?” Dean cuts in, the adrenaline from the fight squaring his shoulders. He shuffles out of Jody’s grasp, taking a few steps to Cas. “I felt it in my hand! You’re the one that tackled me, you dick!—”

“You’re the one that—”

“ _Castiel_.” Jody admonishes, and Cas looks up. “That’s _enough_. Who has the snitch now?”

Dean and Cas stare at each other.

“I don’t.” They say, simultaneously. They blink at each other in shock.

“Then the match isn’t over, and you’re _both_ disqualified,” A fourth voice sounds. The referee. Jody doesn’t move her gaze.

“I’ve never seen you act like that, Castiel,” she mutters. “Would’ve hoped better behaviour from a Novak.”

Dean stares at Cas, who, with a reluctant look at the referee,then at Jody, turns and heads back into the changing rooms.

After a moment, Dean turns and limps off the pitch.

 


	17. The Second Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took 84 years to finish I'm sorry D:
> 
> Fun fact: A decent portion of this chapter was written at a cafe called The Elephant House, which is where JK Rowling wrote a substantial amount of the Harry Potter books. Yes, I felt like such a nerd doing it. Yes, I was absolutely geeking out.

“Hey, uh. Have you seen Cas?”

Dean nudges Charlie as he shuffles his way into the great hall, which had been cleared of its usual contents for the latest challenge. Charlie, who was trying to pry away one of the students with a notebook, manages to shoo him away before turning to Dean. She raises an eyebrow.

“Dude, I’m not the one who’s joined at the hip with him. You sure you guys didn’t have a domestic?”

Dean opens his mouth to rebuke her, but is interrupted by the sight of the Potions Master sweeping into the Great Hall, making his way to the front. Crowley stands to the side of Bobby and Chuck, and places a hand on his hip, scanning the crowd.

“You all here? Doesn’t matter, it’ll be your own fault if you were late to star in your own competition.” He motions to the three different tables that are laid out at the front of the Great Hall, with various beakers and ingredients placed on it. “You’ll have noticed that you’ll be doing some potion making.” He looks at Chuck for a moment, then back to them. “But because we have a temperament for the over-dramatic in this bloody school, we’ve given you something of a …stake, to work towards.”

From one of the side doors, three different stretchers are wheeled in, with sheets over them. By the time it clicks for Dean what is underneath those sheets, the sheets are pulled off, and the crowd that is gathered around them gasps.

Three figures are laid there, unconscious. Jessica Moore. Kaia.

Cas.

He hears Claire’s very loud shout, but is too busy trying to keep his own temperament. He glances to Sam, who is simply staring at Jess.

“An Anti-Paralysis potion is the aim of this challenge. Better hurry up, you have 30 minutes before their body starts thinking the paralysis is more than just a temporary estate. You don’t want to know what that might look like.”

“You son of a _bitch_.” Dean growls. “How is this helpin’ anyone?”

Crowley stares at Dean, and pulls out his pocket watch. He raises an eyebrow.

“29 minutes. Best get a move on.”

Sam, Dean and Claire all scatter in suppressed panic to a respective station. Dean immediately grabs onto a glass beaker and finds himself staring at the ingredients, unable to clear his mind free. He can hear Claire swearing beside him, and ignores his ‘teacher instinct’ to threaten a loss of house points for foul language.

He doesn’t need to look at Sam to know what he’s doing.

Academic, book-smart Sam. Jess would be absolutely fine.

Thing is, Dean loved potions as a student, not that he’d ever admit at the time. He picks up some root of some bizarre vegetable, throwing it into the bowl to start crushing it. The faint tinges of muscle memory start easing in, and Dean nods to himself. He looks back up to Sam.

Sam is still stood there, staring at the table. Frozen.

Dean looks down at his own table. Then back to Sam.

He returns to his work with surprising ease, throwing together what he hopes is the antidote. Heck, maybe he should have applied for the role of Potions Master instead.

He looks back to Sam.

He goes to turn back to his desk, but in the midst of it finds his gaze drifting back over to the stretchers, and finds himself looking at Cas, so still.

He clenches his fist, and pours the mix into a vial on the desk. While doing so he pretends to slip and most of the equipment on his desk go rolling onto the floor, and he kneels down to gather them up. Voices rise with a few of the students beginning to murmur, and he can hear the heavy soles of Crowley’s shoes click on the wood as he walks over.

He suddenly feels a body beside him and he glances up, finding Sam is next to him gathering some of the items in his own arms. They both pause when they make eye contact, and slowly Dean reaches for some beakers in Sam’s hand.

“Hey, thanks.” He remarks, looking at him slowly. Sam hesitates, and nods.

“No problem.”

They slowly rise to their feet, Crowley peering over them both with a raised eyebrow. Dean throws him a grin, shrugging.

“Butter fingers, that’s me.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, and returns to the timer. There were only a few minutes left.

Thirty seconds later, Sam holds up a vial and runs over to Jess. Gently, he pours it into her mouth, and everyone falls silent in anticipation.

Ten seconds later, Jessica opens her eyes, and takes in a deep breath.

Dean looks down at the half finished remains of Sam’s potion, and smiles grimly to himself.

 

* * *

 

“ _Winchester_ , I swear if you keep hovering around me like some sort of fretful mother, I’ll put you into a state of paralysis.” Crowley growls at Dean, who folds his own arms tightly.

“Just — Just get _on_ with it, Crowley!”

“You need to relax. The paralysis potion I used was harmless. Relatively.”

“Relatively?!”

“ _Winchester_ ,” he warns, “The man has been an _Auror_ for the past ten years, he’ll have definitely dealt with much worse than a simple paralysis poison,” he pauses, gently shaking the dropper with the antidote in. “In fact, I had to slip him a double dose, because the first one wouldn’t make him go down.” He prizes Castiel’s mouth open and drops in the mixture, before closing his mouth and stepping away. “So at least give him some space to take a breath before you snog his brains out from relief.”

As soon as Cas opens his eyes, it takes Dean every inch of his will not to throw his arms around him. Cas blinks a few times, before slowly pulling himself to a sitting position. He rubs at his eyes, dazed.

“Dean?” Are the first words that come out of his mouth, and Dean actually freezes as a delighted wave crashes on him so forcefully he feels dizzy. He manages to step forward.

“Cas, hey.” He murmurs, smiling. “I’m here.”

“What happened?” He murmurs, before turning his head to see Crowley. His face falls, realisation clicking into place. “Oh.”

He pulls himself to the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair as he rolls his shoulders a little, stiff. He looks back up to Dean. “… Did you win?”

Dean looks down. “No, ah. Sammy did. Jess woke up first. Sorry.”

Cas shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. People react differently under stress.”

They look at each other.

“Bloody hell,” Crowley mutters, dragging the trolley away. “Knew I should’ve used Charlie. Then I wouldn’t have to be witness to this ridiculous mating dance.”


	18. Moonlit Strolls

“I found Michael trying to interrogate Cas here the other night,” Sam comments, as they walk across the suspension bridge. Dean turns to look at him with a frown.

“When was that?”

“Evening after the Flying challenge. I’d just come from the owlery, and Cas had just come from visiting you.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, stuffing his hands in his cloak pockets. Wizarding society loved their Victorian-era fashion, but like hell was he walking around without any pockets in his clothes. “Guy doesn’t know when to quit. Did you notice he wasn’t at the second challenge? I wonder-”

He looks up, only to realise that Sam is watching him, eyebrow raised. Dean blinks.

“What?”

“He was asking Castiel about you.”

Dean blanches and tries his best to not let his face betray a reaction.  “Yeah? What’d he say?”

“Michael seems worried that Cas is being distracted by you.”

Dean lets out an involuntary snort, crossing his arms. “I ain’t distractin’ Cas of anything. Also, it ain’t Michael’s business what Cas gets up to anyway.”

“Dean,” Sam says, softer. “Things haven’t changed, have they?”

Dean looks up. He frowns at his brother. “What?”

Sam sighs, taking a moment to stare out at the grounds beneath them on the bridge. “You, and Cas--”

“ _No_ , Sam. We’re friends.”

Sam looks back at Dean, looks at him for long enough that Dean has to look away. “Yeah, so they haven’t changed.”

“Yeah, we hung out as students for a while. That was a long time ago.”

“You didn’t just _hang_ _out_ though, Dean, I just wanted to ---”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean cuts off. “Leave it. We got dinner to get to.”

Sam watches Dean as he strolls off in front of him, shoulders hunched. Sam sighs.

 

* * *

 

To Dean’s surprise, Cas corners him after leaving the Great Hall, despite ignoring him the whole time.

“What’s your problem?” He mutters, with more grumpiness than he intended. Cas squints, and pushes an envelope into Dean’s chest.

“I didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” He remarks, “You’re not supposed to know explicit details about the challenge before you turn up to them.”

“Yeah, could’ve guessed that one.” Dean says, peeling the envelope from his chest. He sticks his fingernail underneath the skin of it before Cas reaches, hand clamping over Dean’s wrist. Dean pauses.

“ _Not here_.” He warns. “Read it, then come find me. I’m patrolling the Grounds this evening in preparation for tomorrow. Come and find me if you want to discuss it further.”

Castiel turns around and leaves, without turning to look back at him. Dean still has the envelope clutched in his hand, unopened, when he disappears out of view.

 

* * *

 

He finds Cas out by the lake. A silhouette stood against the careful outline of the water, drawn in from thousands of years of mother nature calling the shots. He’s using a _lumos_ charm on the end of his wand but is staring off into the water. Dean looks up, warily. It’s clear, besides the eons of stars scattered across the sky.

Dean tentatively makes his way over to the man, murmuring his own spell to light up his way. He knows Cas has sensed him, if anything by the lowering of his wand as Dean stands beside him.

They stand side by side in silence for a few minutes, looking over the lake. The lake surface is still, the moon shimmering at them from the water. Dean wonders when he walked into a poem.

 Slowly, he turns to look at Cas, his features mostly hidden in shadow. The moon manages to brush the outline of Castiel’s nose, drawing a gentle line around the edge of his cheek, stroking the exposed collarbone before it nestles under a Gryffindor scarf.

He runs his tongue over his lip, mouth opening to speak – and finds himself slightly dumbfounded when Cas speaks first.

“Do you often see the lake at night?”

Dean, hesitantly, turns his head back to the lake. “No, suppose I don’t.”

Castiel nods. “It’s… peaceful.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Cas sighs, and slides his hands in the pockets of his robes. He looks to Dean. “So, did you read the letter?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, deflating. He reaches a hand up and runs it through his own hair. “So it’s a duel, then?”

“Yes.”

“So… is there much reason to be concerned? It’s not as though I’ve had no practice.” It’s too dark for Cas to see his reaction, but he shuffles with a grin anyway.

Cas’ lack of response shouldn’t have been so disconcerting, but he remains silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. He reckons Cas has never paid much attention to social cues, but this was a little ridiculous.

He reaches out, waving his hand in front of his face. “Uh, earth to Cas?”

“I think Michael is up to something.”

Dean pauses. His hand lowers. “...It’s not him I’m gonna be duelling, is it?”

“Maybe. It’ll be someone who isn’t involved in the competition.”

Dean shrugs. “Hey, even if it is your dick bag of a brother, I’m sure I could handle him. No biggy.”

Castiel finally turns to Dean, whipping around with such abruptness Dean leans back. “He is the _Head Auror_ for a _reason_ , Dean. If he wasn’t so arrogant, he could be the Minister of Magic in a number of years.”

Dean holds his hands up. “Alright, sorry. I was just --” Dean frowns. “Wait, do you think he has it out for Shurley?”

Cas is still staring at him. He speaks, quietly. Dean takes a few steps forward. “Maybe. But I don’t want to make assumptions.” He stares at Dean. “And I don’t want you to get into danger.”

Dean swallows.

“Well, it’s uh. It’s a bit late for that.” He manages to murmur, before images of Cas, unnaturally still on the stretcher flash into his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “What do you think we should do?”

Castiel deflates. “I... I’m not sure.”

Dean frowns and for the first time, struggles to swallow. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Cas say those words.

Cas stares down at the ground, and Dean can only manage a few moments of silence before he reaches out, placing his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Hey, Cas, buddy. It’s gonna be fine. _I’m_ gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out and I _will_ make sure no student gets hurt. Swear my life on it, Cas.”

He feels the tension in Castiel’s shoulder soften, and he looks up at Dean. With a small trickle of elation, he watches a smile bloom across Cas’ lips.

“You don’t need to swear your life, Dean.” He says, quiet. His hand reaches up, placing it over Dean’s, thumb wrapped around his wrist. “I’ll watch over you.”

They stare at each other.

Dean squeezes his shoulder and lets go, taking a step back. He exhales. He tries a bashful smile.

“… Thanks, Cas. Appreciate it.”

Castiel’s arms fall back to his side.

“…It’s okay, Dean.”

He looks past Dean, to the lake, to the moon; blotted on still, unblemished waters.

 “After all, what are friends for?”


	19. The Final Challenge

Claire grips hold of her wand, trying to ignore the fact that it’s shaking in her hand. She feels hands press onto her shoulders and looks up to see Professor Mills hovering over her, a reassuring smile on her face.

“Hey,” Jody reaffirms. “You’re going to be _just fine_.”

“But how is this _fair_?” Claire exclaims, arms raising to emphasise just how she feels about this. “They’re all adults and teachers or have had professional _training_ , for Merlin’s sake—”

“Claire,” Jody hushes, grasping for Claire’s wand before she accidentally jabs somebodys eye out. “Age doesn’t mean anything. They’re just as human as you. Which means they can be just as idiotic as anyone else.”

Claire lets her arms fall to her side.

“Fine,” She relents. “Still definitely gonna lose, though.”

Jody’s smile tightens for just a second, before she pats at Claire’s shoulder and straightens up. “Well, winning isn’t everything. It’s an important lesson we must all lear—”

“Y’all are going _down_ , suckers!” A voice shouts across the small group that is gathered. Jody rolls her eyes.

“---And that _some_ are still learning.” She mutters, turning around. Dean strides by her, grinning. Castiel is walking behind him, looking distinctly like he’s already lost.

“ _Dean_ ,” Jody manages to catch Castiel admonish as they walk by. “You need to stop with the posturing. It’s looking apparent that you’re compensating for something.”

Dean throws what could only be called a _pout_ at the Professor. Jody raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen,” A voice calls across the arena. The students and other members are all huddled in makeshift stands, as per the custom for the past two challenges. The three contestants and their mentors are stood on the outskirts of the arena, which is marked in a large circle in the grass on the ground before them. As Headmaster Singer takes to the forefront of the arena, Minister Shurley and Michael appear at the side. Castiel straightens.

“The final challenge, the one that will conclude whether or not who is the ultimate Champion of our small tournament here, will be going head to head in a series of duels. The rules are this – a winners are declared once one contestant has been made incapable of defending themselves, or they are removed from the marked arena. Only disarming and defence spells allowed. Any that do so will be disqualified. The one to come out victorious shall be our Champion. So, to begin:” Bobby shuffles around some papers, and then looks out at the others. “As he is in last place currently, Dean Winchester shall be duelling first.”

Dean’s expression goes from one of cockiness to losing any emotion immediately. He turns to Castiel, who simply gives him a nod, and with a hand to his back, a light push to the centre of the arena. Dean pretends not to stumble. And draws out his wand.

“And Duelling against Dean Winchester will be Chuck Shurley, Minister for Magic.”

The arena falls silent. Dean turns to stare at Cas. Cas doesn’t know what to do, and helplessly shrugs. Chuck had been one variable, but a very minor one. He looks to Sam, who’s watching with even more bemusement than Dean is.

Chuck smiles uneasily as he takes a few steps forward, stepping over the markings to enter the arena. Castiel stares down at the boundary line, then back up to Michael. He frowns.

Chuck Shurley, while certainly capable in some ways, was not so much in… others. A capable duellist was not one of them; he would’ve been part of the Aurors if that was the case, especially with the events of the last few years.

Dean looks back to Cas, then jerks his head towards Michael with a squint. Dean is so busy looking at Michael, eyes narrowed as he scrutinises him, that he almost walks straight into Chuck. Dean staggers back in slight surprise at a small cough and looks down to see Chuck looking up uneasily at him.

“I know your luck hasn’t been great so far,” he says, earnestly. He withdraws his wand from his robes, holding it up in front of him in preparation. Dean has flashbacks, to a few months earlier, when a taller man with blue eyes did the same thing and nearly kicked his ass. It was some of the most fun Dean had had all year.

He gazes down at Chuck’s wand, and he feels chills settle on his arms. This wasn’t gonna be a trip down memory lane.

Hesitantly, he holds up his own wand. He manages to glance at Cas with a small smile but doesn’t catch Castiel’s eyebrows suddenly raise. He turns back, swings his wand down beside him, then turns around. Dean counts his three steps towards the edge of the arena, staring at the ground to make sure he doesn’t overstep the boundaries – swinging towards his competitor;

No longer facing Chuck Shurley, half dissolved in the conclusion of a Polyjuice potion.

Lucifer smiles at him, and raises his wand.

“ _Avada Kedavra._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home run! Thanks for sticking with me guys <3


	20. Lucifer

“ _DEAN!_ ”

The stadium that is facing Chuck as he turns around reels in shock, and realisation falls into place for Cas at that moment.

The wand. That wand is not Shurley’s—

“ _DEAN!_ ” Cas yells again, practically throwing a ministry member aside who is stood in front of him, only to yell as he’s yanked back by them. His body movement carries him with such momentum that he ends up dragging them to the ground, rolling. Castiel has enough semblance of precision to keep them moving towards the arena, and he feels the markings roll under him as they slow. With a grunt, he twists his hips and straddles the figure beneath him. When he realises who it is, he growls.

“ _Meg._ ”

Meg grins up at him, strands of hair falling on her face. “Hey, sweetcheeks.”

He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by the wave of panic that rolls through the rest of the arena. Cas looks up, seeing Lucifer.

He throws himself off Meg as Lucifer raises his wand and Cas charges towards Dean – only to go diving to the ground again as a hand grabs his ankle. He throws his arms out and clutches Dean’s waist as he falls, bringing the Winchester down with him. They land on each other with a thump, and the killing curse goes sailing over Dean, dispersing against one of the stands which begins to crumble. Students start screaming.

“Cas?—” Dean murmurs, dazed, while Cas reaches for his wand. He raises it above him, and a shimmer disperses from it, encasing all four of them together in the arc of a shield.

 _Protecting the students_ , Dean realises, and he pulls himself to his feet. He glances to Meg who has taken a few steps away to stand beside Lucifer. She pulls her wand out.

Lucifer tilts his head, cracking his neck. He rolls his shoulders.

Castiel stands up beside Dean, wand ready. He places his right foot in front of Dean, shielding him. Somewhat childishly, Dean shuffles, and they stand side by side.

Neither of them breathes.

 

* * *

 

Sam starts sprinting to the arena just as the shield flickers into place, shouting as he comes to a stop in front of it. He pummels a fist against it a few times, before sensing the crackle of magic directly behind him. Sam twists around and pulls his own wand out, deflecting the spell aimed at him. He stares.

Michael watches him. He raises his wand, taking a few steps forward.

“ _Michael_. You too?” Sam comments, in disbelief. Sam presses his back against the shield, wondering if he’ll end up falling through it somehow. “Come on -- this isn’t you.” He raises his own wand in preparation. Michael was making no motion of slowing down, eyes narrowed, focused on him. Sam can only watch him as he approaches. Something was wrong.

“Michael, I’m not the enemy—”

Michael’s wand is raising, advancing towards Sam. He draws it back.

“ _Sectum Sem—”_

The wand goes flying out of Michael’s hand, losing itself among the grass. Bobby steps in view behind Michael, his own wand pointed at the Auror’s back.

“Get ready, boy,” Bobby warns Sam. “He’s Head Auror for good reason.”

 

* * *

 

Lucifer stands there, looking casually between them both.

“Hm,” he says. “Not quite what I had in mind, Castiel. I was hoping you’d be just as easy to convince as Michael over there.”

Cas and Dean turn their heads to where Lucifer motions, seeing the outline of Sam pressed against the shield. Dean’s arm drops to his side in shock, jaw dropping.

“Son of a –” He says, but doesn’t finish as he’s thrown onto his side, a hand bruising his waist as he hits the ground hard. He looks up just in time to see Cas advance forward, and with a flick of his wand a hurricane surges into motion. Dean raises his arm to cover his eyes.

“ _Cas_!” He yells, as the male falls onto one knee from the effort. The hurricane lasts for only a few moments before it drops, a counter spell freezing it almost mid-gale. The hurricane shatters, splintering the shield with hundreds of shards of ice. Dean manages to throw up a repulsion spell in front of him, watching as the ice melts, soaking the ground and his clothes in the process.

Meg is on the ground, unconscious. Cas is still standing, a few strides away from Lucifer – who hasn’t moved an inch from when Dean had last looked. Castiel is soaked, dark hair plastered against his forehead. With a grunt, Dean pulls himself onto his elbows. He’s holding onto his wand so tightly he feels the cramp in his hand, but finds himself unmoving, gaze latched onto Cas. He’s only getting a slight view of the man, but it’s as though Cas is facing a student, not the most feared Dark Wizard of their age.

He supposes the title loses its intimidation when it’s attached to a sibling.

Castiel and Lucifer watch each other.

Lucifer’s lip crease in a smile. Cas immediately throws his wand up, a thrust of a spell that skids his feet backwards several metres, just as the ground beneath him rips itself open. Lucifer starts to move, expressionless, and Dean shuffles backwards, back pressing against the shield. He holds his wand with both hands and tries to ignore the shaking.

As they circle each other Lucifer turns his head, looking straight at Dean. He raises an eyebrow. With a casual flick of his wrist, a spell surges towards him, and Dean raises his wand in anticipation, mouth trying to form the words-- 

The spell never hits, and he opens his eyes (not realising that they were closed to begin with) and sees the outline of Castiel’s shoulders in front of him, and a haze of light in between them and Lucifer. It wasn’t light. It was _fire._

Cas grunts, holding the shield, and Dean feels his chest twist. He staggers shakily to his feet. He looks behind him.

Wringing his hands, he takes a few steps forward. A hand grasps at Cas’ shoulder, and Castiel jerks, shoulders hunching.

“Cas - let - Let the shield go.”

“ _What_?” Cas hisses, gaze not shifting from the spell he’s focusing on. “Dean, that’s--”

“Do you -- _Dammit_ \-- Do you trust me?”

Cas forces his gaze to look at Dean, eyes wide from the strain. He stares at him for a few moments, and despite himself, Dean can’t help but give a reassuring wink.

“First rule of duelling, Cas. Element of surprise.”

Cas turns his head back to the spell. A pause. “Three, two,”

Dean grip tightens, and he readies the wand.

“ _Aguamenti.”_

He throws as much power behind the spell as he possibly can, and as Cas drops all his spells, water pours out from Dean’s wand, a torrent towering towards Lucifer.

Lucifer siphons easily through the wave, flames licking weakly at the ground around him. He looks up to find the staff of Hogwarts surrounding him, poised.

With a roll of his eyes, Lucifer takes a few steps back, and disapparates from Hogwarts.

 

* * *

 

Dean is so busy staring at the space that Lucifer once occupied he doesn’t realise he’s still holding onto Cas, until he feels a hand on his own arm. He blinks, looking to Cas gaze up at him, appearing drained.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas hisses. “Are you alright?”

Dean stares at him for a few moments. He wordlessly pulls Cas into a hug, pressing his face into the crook of the Auror’s neck. He squeezes him, taking his first breath against his shoulder in what feels like days.

“Thank you.” He murmurs. A few (uneasy) beats later, he feels hands grasp at the back of his own sodden robes. Castiel sighs against him, quiet.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, lips twisting as stumbles over his next words, before---

“ _Sam!_ ”

Jess’ shrill cry throws Dean out of his internal dance and he looks up, watching as Jess emerges and runs towards a figure, slumped on the floor, unconscious---

_Sam._


	21. The Aftermath

_Flames wrap around Sammy’s bedroom, the searing heat prickling at Dean’s cheeks—_

_A soft bundle, placed in his arms – hardened, shaking hands pushing at his back, out into the crisp darkness of their neighbourhood_

_\---A baby, his brother, screeching for his mother, one that has a silent voice –--_

_He can’t remember her voice—_

Dean wakes with a jolt.

The first thing that settles in his consciousness is the smell of anaesthetic, tickling at his nose. He grips at the bundled sheets that his legs are trapped under, and holds a hand to his head as his senses dawn on him.

“Hey.” He feels a hand on his arm. A groggy blink, and Jody swims into view, sat at the end of his bed.

“Sammy,” Dean croaks. “Where’s Sammy?”

“Relax,” Jody soothes, fingers on his arm tightening, grounding him. “He's here. We’re all safe. Take it easy, you had a rough time.” She lets go, knowing how much Dean will actually heed her words.

Dean throws back his bed sheet, swinging his legs over the edge with some stiffness. He winces. Every part of his body aches.

The hospital wing is quiet. The sun filters through the window, highlighting particles of dust as they float, suspended. The sun filters through the window, highlighting particles of dust as they float, suspended. Mid afternoon. Twilight would be sinking in soon.

He looks over to the concentration of people gathered round one of the beds, and blinks when he sees Cas stood there. He’s leaning over the figure in the bed. Clearing his throat, Dean opens his mouth to call for his brother.

“Dean.”

Dean frowns, turning to the source of whoever is calling his name – only to find it’s Sam.

Sam is propped up on a bed behind him, looking rather well for what Dean was anticipating. His brow furrows in confusion.

“Sammy?” He mutters, attempting to stagger out of bed. “You’re alright,” He says, unsure if he’s asking a question or making a statement. Sam gives him a small smile, and Dean holds onto his bedpost, sighing.

“Hey, brother.” Sam acknowledges. Dean smiles at him, before another question drops in his mind. If Sammy was here, then…

Who was on the bed?

He turns back to the small crowd just as they all step back, Cas sighing loudly. He looks round and catches Dean staring at him. Something in the back of Dean’s mind tells him he should at least try to look away.

Cas stares back. Dean feels a grin creeping back into the edges of his lips – before the form of the figure on the bed catches his eyes.

_Michael._

Cas is approaching Dean by the time he glances up, and before he can open his mouth to question him Cas leans forward to peel away the bandage on his forehead, and he can feel his cheeks flush red at the proximity. He _swears_ he can hear Sam snort behind him, and Sam better be friggin’ glad Dean can’t move.

After a few moments Cas leans back, peering at Dean with tired blue eyes. Dean closes his own as Cas gently brushes a thumb against his skin, feeling the gentle scratch of the wounds knotting together with magic. When Cas moves his hand Dean opens his eyes, looking at the Auror. Didn’t seem like he had a scratch on him.

“Thanks, Nurse Cas,” Dean murmurs, softly. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Here, at Hogwarts. It was part of our—” Cas sighs, cutting himself off from a redundant explanation. “My role as an Auror specialised in healing magic.”

Dean blinks, thinking for a moment. Then he nods. “Makes sense.” A beat of silence. He speaks, quieter. “So, uh. Michael?”

They both look over at the unconscious man. A small frown appears on Cas, small wrinkles creasing his forehead.

“Sam and Professor Singer took him out while we were dealing with Lucifer. It appears he’d been under the Imperius curse. I’m unsure just how long but… it’s considerable.”

Dean watches Michael, as the implication settles in. “Well, shit.” He says.

“That’s one way of summarising it.” Jody surmises, still perched at the end of Dean’s bed. “You passed out not long after Lucifer disappeared.”

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes at himself. “Even before I could see if you were okay?” He asks to Sam. Sam shrugs.

“Was too distracted to watch you go down. It was Cas who caught you. We… didn’t know what Michael was going to do once he went down – if it even _was_ Michael.” He mutters, grimly. He looks over to Michael; at this point the best luck they had of Michael reviving was him sitting up to admonish them for gawking at him.

“Did we ever find Chuck?” Sam asks, breaking the silence. The proceeding silence that follows has Dean gripping at the bedpost, irritation clawing at his jaw.

“Yeah, yeah, lookin’ for Chuck is great and all, but we’re missin’ something. Why’d Lucifer disguise as him in the first place and then come to Hogwarts? He had the ministry of Magic right under his fingertips, not unlike he’s done—”

He catches Sam and Cas staring at each other, and Dean frowns.

“ _What?_ ”

Cas turns slowly to look at Dean. His is gaze impossibly stoic. “Because he wasn’t trying to take over the Ministry.”

Cas then stares at Sam, with the rather petty look of ‘He’s _your_ brother’. Sam relents.

“He’s after us, Dean. Lucifer wants to kill _us_.”

Dean’s too stunned to make a retort, exclamations bubbling against his mind; only siphoned through with the cool voice of Jody’s, edged with the same incredulity that Dean wanted to punch a wall with.

“And _how_ are you certain of this, _boys_?”

Sam looks down. “There’s a prophecy, Dean. About us. About Lucifer. I… found out while I was in the Ministry. I was forbidden from sharing.”

“ _The Dark Power that presides may only be broken beyond the veil. Beware, Darkness, of the colour of sky, one that holds the mantle of Winchester_.” Cas speaks, with the instinctual rhythm of a life-or-death mantra.

Dean turns to stare between them, before his eyes settle on Cas. “You knew, too?”

“That shouldn’t be a surprise, Dean.” But he can’t meet Dean’s gaze.

Everyone falls silent as the door opens, and a figure enters. Sam’s shoulders drop in relief as the figure of Jess appears, and her pace increases as she spots Sam. She leans over and hugs him tight as she reaches Sam’s bed.

Dean realises he’s been looking but not watching. He squeezes his eyes shut, and with a long inhale he pushes away from his bed, straightening up. “M’ goin’ for some air.”

Cas starts to step forward. “Dean, you should rest—”

“I’m. Going _. Out._ ”

He staggers out of the wing before anyone can stop him.

 

* * *

 

Dean makes it down one hall before he senses the quick paces of someone behind him, and stubbornly refuses to let himself turn around, no matter how much he was anticipating their arrival.

“Dean—”

Cas halts a few paces behind him but makes no motion to turn him around. “This isn’t Sam’s fault, I—”

“Why didn’t you _tell me_ , Cas?”

When Cas doesn’t respond, Dean finally allows himself to turn around, growling. Cas is looking at him, forlorn.

“I _would_ have, if I could.”

“You’re not an _Auror_ anymore. Think you forget that with your ego sometimes.”

Cas tilts his head in mild bemusement. An eyebrow is raised. “I apologise if saving your life on _multiple_ accounts has damaged your ego, Dean.”

“I thought we were _friends_ , Cas.” Dean raises his arms, motioning to the other man. “You keepin’ something like this – makes me wonder if that’s really the case.”

“There are things I have to carry alone, even now.” Cas cuts in, a dead stare. The hallway is quiet, the muted sounds of birds calling from beyond the archways they were stood between. “We saw what happened to Michael. I’ve seen what happens when _I_ fail.”

Dean falters. “… So you were protectin’ us.” His voice lowers, and he directs it to the ground. “Again.”

They both fall silent. Staring.

“I made a promise, Dean.” Cas finally says, voice gentle. He reaches a hand out, pressing against Dean’s elbow, nudging him to look at him. “This isn’t just you.”

And it’s here, Cas backing Dean up against the wall in the darkened corridor, hands pressing to shoulders, blue eyes staring up deep against his own, breaths mingling and fingers tugging at collars—

Dean feels lips press against his and he closes his eyes, sighing as knees bump and chests press together, and his arms slide around the waist of the other man pinning him. The Kiss is wet and desperate despite the chapped lips of the other, and he hears himself breathing his name, biting slightly at the bottom of his lip as he pulls away to breathe, chest expanding--

Dean looks down at Cas, one hand tangled in dark hair, another running fingers down a spine curved towards him. Calloused pads of fingers press against Dean’s jaw and Cas exhales, watching.

“Dean,” He murmurs and leans in, holding his name in his lips. Dean hums, tasting how Cas holds it.

“This—That was…” Dean breathes, holding onto Cas as though letting go fabricated the whole moment.

“Us,” Castiel murmurs, voice full. “This is us.”


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it, folks! Welcome to the end of Part 1 of this series. Keep an eye out for the next segment.
> 
> I just wanted to take this moment to thank a few people. Firstly, thanks to MalMuses for always being vigilant in reading my chapters and flailing over feelings. You've been a huge motivator in helping get this done <3
> 
> And to barebones, who basically created most of this world with me. Thank you. <3

The cobblestones are slippery, Diagon Alley crowded by black hoods and sodden witches and wizards.

Castiel slides a book across an old, marred desk. A few seconds later he drops some coins into the shopkeeper’s hands.

“Castiel. It’s been some time.” Samandriel says, smiling up at him. “How is Michael?”

“Alive.” Castiel responds. “Unfortunately, still incapacitated.

“So there’s no Head Auror?” He questions. He glances down for a long moment. “Does that mean there’s an opening?”

Cas smiles, gentle.

“I suppose we’ll find out. Is there a quill I can borrow?”

Samandriel peers over with some curiosity as Cas takes the quill out of their hands, opening the front cover and scratching something on the first page. Cas closes it before he can see, folding the book underneath his robes.

“See you soon, Samandriel.”

Pulling the hood up on his robes, he pushes the door open with a small creak, the bells on the door tingling as Cas leaves.

Cas finds himself squinting through the haze of raindrops, awkwardly shuffling his way amongst others both equally wishing the rain knew which way was acceptable to fall, and that spells that altered the ecosystem weren't forbidden or at the very least seen as impolite.

He didn’t have long. A quick trip for some old friends along the alley, before he’d have to make his way back to Hogwarts.

His foot takes one step inside the doorway Gringotts, shaking his hood to remove excess water.

Castiel feels the rolling heat before screams piece the air.

A low, loud rumble shakes the street, crunching rubble bursting through the rain. Cas closes his eyes as flashes of falling bricks and still children cross his mind, before people start pushing past him. He turns around.

The bookshop has collapsed, flames crawling their way around bodies slumped on the floor. A frightened mass of people stampedes down and away from chaos. Cas draws out his wand.

He strides towards the shop, having to push against the crowd fleeing from the scene. He comes to a stop at the body of Samandriel, face down and hair mopped in blood.

Castiel kneels to inspect him, holding his breath as he turns him over. Lifeless eyes gaze back up at him.

“Poor boy didn’t know when to _shut up_.”

Cas looks up to the source of the voice. From the midst of the husk of the building, a woman appears.

Cas rises to his feet.

“Meg.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” She smiles, using her wand to gesture. “How’s you and lover boy doing?”

Cas raises his wand, pointing it at her. “This is why Lucifer saved you? To commit terrorist acts?”

“No, this is just a bonus.” She muses, her own wand lowering to point at Castiel. Cas dares to let his eyes glance around their surroundings. She was stood on top the carcass of brick, giving her the high ground. The Alley was quickly emptying, people disapparating or running to floo powder stations. “He saved me because I’m loyal. And he wants you _dead_.”

Before Meg can raise her own, Cas aims his wand at her, muttering _Expelliarmus_ under his breath. Her wand goes flying out of her hands and she scrabbles to catch it.

As she turns and staggers away, Cas walks after her, wand steady. “I’ll just have to disappoint him.”

Meg stops. She slowly turns, and smiles. She looks up, behind Castiel. Castiel stops. He blinks.

 _I’m not going to win this_ , his body urges, and he suddenly wants to do nothing but to curl up and never move again. His training throws itself against his conscience. _Danger._ Castiel turns around.

 _Dementors_.

He runs.

Diagon Alley has been all but abandoned, and with Michael out of the picture, the Aurors would take longer to arrive. Lucifer had _planned_ this.

Castiel runs towards the Leaky Cauldron, wanting to ensure that the barrier had been put up if the wizards in there hadn’t been notified already. No one could get out.  

He’s a few paces away, when someone emerges from the pub. Cas stumbles to a halt, hairs on his neck prickling. Alastair watches him, coolly.

“Seems we’ve got a hot one, ladies and gents.”

Alastair raises his wand, and Castiel’s muscles explode in pain, vision ringing white. He feels the cobblestones hit his knees as he crumples. He curls, deaf to his own screams.

Meg steps over him to pick up the book that had fallen out of Castiel’s robes. She opens the cover.

“ _To Dean, this should help in your vigilant fight against the conspiracies of the Dementors and Grindylows. Yours, Castiel_. Eugh.” Meg scoffs, and drops the book beside Castiel’s body, whimpering. She steps over him, standing next to Alastair. “Let’s go.”

They disapparate, and Castiel loses consciousness as his fingers reach for the book, ink blotching in the rain.


End file.
